A Minute
by LadyMeringue
Summary: What if during Neal and Keller's face off in Checkmate, Peter had walked in just a minute too late? Set in 03x11. Peter-Neal angst and hurt/comfort. No slash. Not a death fic. Rated T for mentions of violence and light language.
1. Chapter 1

**A Minute**

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 **A/N: Hey there everyone! :D I hope you guys are doing great. I've been re-watching the show again and I just can't get enough with all the plot bunnies running around in my head! :) So I decided to give this one a shot too.**

 **This story will be a three-shot covering both Neal's and Peter's POVs alternatively set during the fight scene of 03x11, Checkmate. It's always a what if I've wondered about and now that I have my creative juices floating, I gave in finally and wrote this piece down. I know that there are loads of amazing works out there on this plotline, but here's another one from my end as well.**

 **Not keeping y'all for long now!**

 **Happy Reading! :D :D**

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 **Chapter 1**

"Not the Raphael. You wouldn't."

Neal knew that Keller was a lot of things but he wasn't somehow who'd destroy a priceless piece of art in a hand-to-hand combat.

It took a minute to be proved wrong as the painting came smashing down the side of the head, the impact making stars pop in his line of vision. He felt himself fall upon his stomach with the air rudely knocked out of his lungs.

It took a minute to absorb the shock.

Eyes shut and lungs trying to greedily force back the air it had lost, Neal knew had to get up before Keller struck him again. He could feel the heat burn the back of his head and metal drip down his face in a sticky trail, the sun burning his wounds even more. He wished for nothing more than to fall asleep, sleep that he'd not known since the moment El had been kidnapped.

El.

It took a minute to regain his will to get up.

Lips shivering and head hurting, Neal made to push himself up with trembling hands, gritting his teeth at the nausea and pain that intensified at the strain. Before he could turn his head though, something sharp make contact with his head once again. The pain made him nearly blind of everything else as he felt dry concrete meet his face, pulling at the already present wound in his face even more.

Head aching fit to explode and the metallic taste of blood now lining the insides of his mouth, Neal found himself getting sucked into an abyss of painless dark before something tugged at him. Something that twisted his head and brought him back to reality with such sharp focus that it made him cry out in pain. Except, the voice that escaped his throat was barely a whimper.

It took him a minute to let the air back into his lungs.

Letting the pain abate for a minute until he could move, Neal slowly turned himself onto his back in spite of every pore in his body convincing him otherwise, feeling blood now trickle from the back of his head. Desperate to open his eyes before Keller could assault him any further, Neal pushed open his uncooperative lids once, twice, thrice, until sunlight finally streamed into his sight along with a looming figure.

He could see the silhouette of Keller with the staff of Napoleon raised mid-air before it suddenly fell to his side with a hesitant clang. Neal nearly took a sigh a relief. Nearly. The same time as his vision grew clearer, Keller pulled something out of thin air, something that made Neal's slightly less throbbing head fall devoid of thoughts. Keller had his revolver pointed at him.

It took a minute to realize that he was a goner.

"You've been a pain in my ass for too long, Caffrey. It's time to go gently into the night," crooned Keller's voice cruelly, Neal too dazed to defend himself. Shuttling between the pain and the paralysis of the moment, eager to shut his eyes and slip into darkness yet afraid that if he shut his eyes, he'd never be opening them again, Neal knew that nobody was going to save him.

Not even Peter.

The sky flitting in and out of his sight, Neal knew that his head was on fire when he felt his world crumble with a resounding blast, the impact somehow not pushing him further behind like it had when the plane had blown up with Kate in it. He remained just where he was, suddenly distant from everything until a voice cut through the haze of his misty thoughts. He could barely discern the voice before he felt his chest get torn into half, trying to clutch at it and hold the pieces together.

Fingers tracing the rip point, Neal was unaware yet aware about the blood oozing from the wound and through his fingers, the sun now burning into his gaze in spite of two heavy shadows looming in and out of view. He tried to hold on to something, anything that would take away his pain until he felt his hands draw in something. Something that felt like a _gun_.

It took him a minute to decide it was do or die.

Fighting through the never-ceasing pain, Neal screamed as he pushed himself off the ground even though his voice was nothing more than a muffled moan. His body protested the ambitious movement. Forcing his eyes open one, two, three, four, five, six, _damn it_ , seven, eight, nine times until his line of vision could get as clear as he could hope for it to, Neal saw Peter and Keller scuffle over something that shone brilliantly in the daylight, something awfully close to a dagger.

Forcing his mind back on task knowing he had only precious seconds before he lost control of his senses, Neal took aim at Keller, letting out a frustrated sigh at just how difficult the shot was going to be with Peter blocking him entirely. It was now or never. He had to take the risk.

Drawing in breath that eluded him even more, Neal could feel his chest ache with the desperation of air but it had to wait. He pulled the safety click of the revolver and took a quick glance at his target before pulling the trigger, the recoil nearly making him lose balance alongside. Movement came to a standstill for a second before Neal heard a thump and Keller swearing at the top of his voice.

Bull's eye.

Peter turned back and they met eyes for a moment before the former checked his trousers, only to find a hole in it. Neal laughed at the expression on Peter's face and yet somehow a gurgle resounded, suddenly grounding him to where he now slipped back to lay. He felt the ground thunder underneath him as Peter swam into his rapidly fading vision seconds later, his face first blown in concern and then into shock.

It took him a minute to accept that this time, Peter was _too_ late.

Between snatches of pain and darkness, Neal could feel an incessant tapping and all he wanted to do was to shoo it away. But his hands wouldn't raise. He knew that if he had to get rid of the tapping, he had to delve into the world of pain again. It was the only way to reclaim his peaceful darkness.

And then back came Peter, looking frenzied as he spoke fast and unintelligibly.

" _...don't you dare die on me! ...El has called you over to dinner this weekend... eyes open... stay with me..._ "

It took him a minute to register Peter's words.

Yet only one statement stuck to him. He needed answers. Peace or no, he needed to know that his sacrifice had been worth it. That the pain he was putting himself through at this point was worth it.

"El...?"

"She's fine, we found her!" completed Peter, looking almost petrified with his features pale. Neal found it incredibly amusing to see the ever-calm Special Agent Peter Burke look so rattled and he would have laughed had it not been for the fact that his chest nearly exploded in a fresh bout of agony, stealing away more air from his lungs. He wanted to fade, he _needed_ to fade but Peter just seemed to be pulling at his leash, tethering him back to a world of pain.

"L'me go, P'tr…" he whispered insensibly, wanting nothing more than to slip Peter's tail as air now failed him completely. Peter took his job too seriously, Neal pondered, following him everywhere he went, including his peaceful oblivion.

It took him a minute to realize that he was dying for real.

As though electrocuted with survival instinct, Neal felt his eyes snap open, pain and disorientation now cast aside. Peter swam back into focus and Neal felt his hand in his. He squeezed it strongly when their eyes met; Peter seemed to have exhaled a breath he'd long since forgotten.

"You're going to get through this..." he reassured yet Neal heard him through waves of water. There was too much noise around him suddenly. He continued to keep his gaze glued to Peter, wanting the older agent to be the last sight he saw before he slipped towards wherever he was headed. He could barely breathe through the pain and certainly didn't have the strength to wheeze words into sentences, but he hoped that Peter would read between the lines like always.

"Thn'k you, P'tr… f'r bein' a... fr'nd…"

And it was in that minute that he felt the life slip out of him.

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 **So, what do you think so far?**

 **Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Minute**

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 **A/N: Hey there everyone! :D Here's the next chapter! :)**

 **Happy Reading! :D :D**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

"Neal?"

"Disappointed?"

It took him a minute after the conversation to process that his wife was safe.

"Mozzie I'm going to need a car like this..." muttered Peter once his attention was fully back to the present, his mind now travelling in circles about where Neal could be and what Keller may be doing to him.

"There..." replied Mozzie, opening the unlocked car like it was the most obvious solution in the world.

Peter gave him an amused look.

Sitting into the car, he gave Mozzie half a nod before he brought the vehicle to life, rushing over the mapped route as quickly as he could. El may have been safe, but his troubles were far from over. He knew what Keller was capable of, and the fact that Neal had volunteered to take him on did not leave behind anything to feel assured about.

Not because he was worried about Neal fleeing the scene with the treasure.

 _God no._

It was because Neal was going to play the self-sacrificial lamb.

Peter had seen that look in his eyes when he'd thrust Neal against the backdoor wall in his house demanding to know about the treasure. He could see those crystal blue eyes look back at him fearfully, not because of what he'd done (or not done), but because of the ultimate price _Peter_ had to pay for it. And yet when Neal had taken him to the empty warehouse facility, Peter noticed the conman go stiff even in the wake of his own demented rage. Neal had been calm and understanding.

Perhaps a little too calm for his liking.

The next morning when his anger had been reigned back into control, he'd asked the young man about what the falling out was exactly about between himself and Mozzie. And that's when Neal had confessed - that he had a life here. With him, Elizabeth, Sara, the view outside the balcony and even stepping off the 21st floor every Monday. That was his life. A life he'd chosen over sharing the treasure of a lifetime with Mozzie.

It took him a minute to absorb that Neal had chosen _this_ for himself.

As his mind hammered on with the traffic now killing his patience, Peter found himself left with ample time to think. If someone were to ask him what he felt about the conman, he was at a loss of words. The predominant emotion he felt at the moment was relief. Intense, heart-warming relief. But he couldn't shake off the feeling every time he thought about Neal. Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

He was still mad about the entire affair. After all the false reassurances and speeches, he'd been right after all. Neal may have not stolen the treasure, but he'd withheld information on the same. He may have given up the treasure for Elizabeth by bringing Mozzie back, but his wife wouldn't have been in that situation had it not been for him. He may have walked away from the treasure, but it had sauntered back to him again in the end.

He was proud yet disappointed, relieved yet worried, calm yet angry, conflicted yet certain about what his opinion was on the entire situation.

It took him a minute to realize that he was feeling _too_ much.

He knew what he felt about the situation, but not about Neal. The young man was no longer his CI - that was a bridge they'd crossed the day he'd given up the oxygen breather and had trusted him with his _life_.

 _"Five minutes for one, two and a half minutes for two."_

Somewhere through their experiences together, starting with Kate, Neal had become a partner. When Neal was going to board the plane with Kate, he'd already become a friend. In between helping Neal cope with her death and the entire U-Boat fiasco, they'd floated through different levels of exploring trust with each other, realizing that they had each others' backs when it really mattered and for now, it would do. Somewhere down the line, they'd grown into a dysfunctional family. A family that fought, bickered and even fell out, but walked out together at the end of the day.

And yet knowing that Neal had hidden his knowledge about the treasure from him in spite of his repeated questioning hurt. Why it did so, even he couldn't fathom. It wasn't not as though Neal had actually stolen it. From what it sounded, he'd never even voluntarily taken it on. The only thing he was truly guilty about was trying to protect Mozzie. And yet... it felt like _everything_ was his fault.

It took him a minute to realize that he was being unfair.

He was unaware about his car coming to a halt in front of the docks. Neither did he step out from it, too lost in thought. Why was it that this felt like a betrayal? Maybe it was because he'd let emotions cloud his judgment to the point where he'd forgotten that at the end of the day, Neal was ultimately a conman. He wasn't a child that was being trained to remain on the right path by resisting temptations. He was a grown man accountable for his own choices.

But he'd forgotten that.

He had nearly come to believe that if Neal was constantly reminded of what was right and wrong, he would automatically learn the difference and become a changed man. True, Neal had changed in a lot of ways in these two years. But one thing that Peter had expected - that at the end of the day, no matter where they went or what they did, he could _always_ trust Neal. Not with both eyes closed, ofcourse, but just enough. Neal may have always omitted facts, but he'd never outright lied to him. Not then, not even now.

Just when his thoughts began to spiral out of control, he was brought back to reality by the sound of a _gunshot_.

It took him a minute to push down the ill-feeling that boded his heart.

Rushing out of the car and into the direction of the shot, it hardly took him a minute to locate the gigantic truck and the scene around him. Neal remained fallen upon the group with blood smeared around his head while Keller had his gun fully aimed at him, ready to make a shot. Before he could though, Peter tackled him, throwing him off balance as the gun flew sideways.

"Whoa, easy there Burke. Remember I've got the wife, right?" chuckled Keller, instantly getting into stance.

"Not anymore," growled Peter as he punched him square in the face, hearing a nice crack from his nose. The force of the punch sent Keller staggering a few steps behind.

"What- what you're bluffing me?"

"You can call ahead and check with your guy on 23rd and 3rd," he shot back, eyeing Keller with menace. All the pounding hatred he felt for the man came back in a single go, obliterating everything else from mind. And then, all Keller had to do was speak.

"'Tis alright. So I'll get your wife again. And again. And ag-" Peter felt his hands smash across the British con's face in repeated fury, letting loose all his pent-up restraint as Keller now got into combat. Catching a few blows himself, he nearly had an upper hand until Keller drew out a knife from one of the artifacts with the intent to stab.

It took him a minute to hold his ground against the blade set to slice him.

From somewhere in the distance went off another gunshot and Keller yelped back immediately, falling to the ground now clutching a bloody leg. Peter turned around, instinctively expecting the FBI having arrived with the full cavalry but all he saw was Neal. Neal with a gun that shook violently in his hands, barely halfway up from the ground. Peter returned to assess Keller before cuffing his hands forcefully behind his back.

He then turned to look at Neal again, surprised at the accuracy of the shot before a singed hole in his trousers caught his attention.

He looked up to draw Neal into a challenge of explaining himself, all thoughts from the car forgotten. And then his smile faded away. Even before he could let go of the breath he was holding, the gun slipped out from Neal's grip, Peter noticing the growing pool of blood around him clearly for the first time. A few seconds later, he seemed to gurgle blood from his lips before he swayed violently and fell back to the ground, Peter barely reaching in time to break his fall.

It took him a minute to let the sight sink in.

Neal's forehead was a mess of blood and bruises as he bled from somewhere behind his head while a sharp cut protruded from the front, blood drying all the way to his lips. But it was only when he pushed aside the lapel of Neal's suit to see why there was such an unusual amount of blood on the floor that his breath seized. A hole was burned through his shirt caught square to the left of his chest, oozing blood profusely. Neal's hands were coated red and even as Peter tried to stem the bleeding by taking off his own additional jacket, he could feel Neal grow cold in his grasp. His eyes had closed shut.

"Neal? Neal!" caled Peter, tapping his face in urgency. He couldn't let Neal close his eyes; the shock would set in instantly and would complicate matters worse. But Neal didn't stir. Peter continued tapping his face.

"Come on buddy, don't you dare die on me! We got Keller and El is safe! Jones and Diana found her at the right time... El has called you over to dinner this weekend, she wants to thank you for what you did for her-" Peter noticed Neal's eyelids flutter with a strained wheeze. He realized with a start that Neal was having trouble drawing in air, his chest nearly flat.

"Hey! Look at me! Open your eyes and that's an order! I own you for the next two years and you are NOT bailing out on me! NEAL!" bellowed Peter in desperation when he felt Neal's chest rise slightly, now raising his chin to clear his airway. He realized that he'd released some of the pressure on the wound and reapplied more. Neal's mouth opened but no sound escaped. Instead, his eyes pushed themselves open.

"That's it, Neal. Keep your eyes open. Come on, stay with me."

Blue eyes met his, strained now red as he weakly tried to grasp something. Peter slipped his free hand into his own, gasping at just how cold they had gotten. That wasn't good. In the distance, he could hear sirens even though his gaze was upon Neal, who seemed to be trying to speak. After a few seconds, a voice finally carried the word.

"El...?" he gasped thinly, and had Peter not been straining his ears, he was sure to have missed it. Looking closely, he realized that Neal's lips were turning blue. Knowing that he wasn't getting enough air, Peter knew it was only time before Neal lost consciousness again. He had to talk him into being awake for as long as he could.

"She's fine, we found her," Peter informed, unable to keep the setting panic out of his voice. It seemed just the answer the young man was looking for as his features relaxed and his eyes shut.

"No! Damn it, Neal, I need you awake!" whispered Peter in as close a plea he could muster. This was not how he imagined things ending. There was a long way to go still, a long lecture that Neal would have to hear. He would not let Neal off the hook so easy! He had to earn his trust back!

Reapplying pressure on the wound just as he sensed Jones and Diana stand over his shoulders, he noticed Neal's mouth open again, now weakly thrashing for breath.

"L'me go, P'tr..." was all he could muster before his body seized, convulsing into what Peter was certain was a cardiac arrest. Seconds later the paramedics stood beside him, trying to pull him out of the way. Neal fell still, the sight unbearable for Peter to take.

"Sir, you need to let go," instructed one of the attendants and Peter nodded, the voices around him sluggish. When he tried to pull his hand away though, he couldn't. Neal's grip had gone stiff, the hold too strong to be let gone of. The paramedics noticed this and made him sit at a better angle, trying their best to resuscitate the fallen man.

 _"There's no pulse. Pads, now!"_

 _"Charged to 200. Clear!"_ One jolt ran through Neal's body. Nothing. The shock separated their hands. The paramedics shook their head at the still bleeding wound.

 _"Charged to 280. Clear!"_ Another jolt ran through his body. Nothing. Neal's chest remained still, his pallor now deathly grey. Peter felt himself grow numb.

 _"Charged to 300. Clear!"_ A third jolt ran through his friend and yet he remained as unmoving as ever. The paramedics seemed to have nearly accepted defeat. But not Peter.

 _"Charged to 360. Clear!"_ The fourth jolt made Neal's eyes snap open. He noticed the newly revived man's hand weakly flailing and Peter caught hold of it again, letting go of a breath he had forgotten to exhale.

It took him a minute to realize how close he was to losing his friend.

" _...he's got a collapsed lung. We need to set him up for intubation stat! And call ahead at the hospital, he's lost a lot of blood,_ " murmured the attendants between themselves as they strapped Neal onto a gurney and pushed towards the ambulance waiting in tow, Peter getting dragged alongside.

"Sir, we need you to step back-" began the attendant when Peter felt a tug, his eyes instantly latching onto Neal's.

"You're going to get through this..." he began but stopped when no more words of assurance flew out. He had been in some extremely tense and gruelling situations as an agent but never had he felt so scared or hopeless in all his life. Not even 12 hours ago when his wife had been taken.

It took him a minute to let sink that this could very well be the last time he saw his friend _alive_.

Blue eyes held his attention with his pupils blown cross his irises, but whatever it was couldn't seem to wait. Squeezing his hand, Neal spoke with quiet desperation.

"P'tr, thn'k you... f'r bein' a... frn'd..."

Shock and paranoia had barely settled into Peter's stomach before Neal's hand fell limply away. His eyes now stared at him, unseeing and it was a sight Peter knew would haunt him for the years to come.

It was the minute that Neal Caffrey's life had slipped out of his bloodied hands.

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 **Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**A Minute**

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 **A/N: Hey there everyone! :D I know this was technically supposed to be a three-shot but now that I've settled into the groove of writing this, I didn't want to leave anything off on an abrupt note. So I guess the updates will mostly go up to five chapters (or even more if I feel like it needs to end at a better place).**

 **Thank you for all the reviews so far, I'm happy that you guys are engaged so far. :)**

 **Not keeping y'all for long,**

 **Happy Reading! :D :D**

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 **Chapter 3**

Peter let himself slump upon one of the chairs outside the emergency room, his head in his hands. The paramedics had tried to stabilize Neal throughout their journey to the hospital but with little luck. Too much blood had been lost in spite of the initial treatment, and by the time Neal was taken into the ER, nobody looked hopeful.

Jones and Diana were left behind somewhere in Peter's mind along with a wounded Keller who couldn't even be pushed upright to stand without crumbling to the ground in pain. How Neal had managed to make that shot in the condition he was, Peter would never know. It would probably be amongst the many unknown enigmas that would die with Neal Caffrey.

It took Peter a minute to mentally reprimand himself over his pessimism.

And yet Peter knew he wasn't wrong. He had been the one trying to stop the copious bleeding from where the capably-lethal bullet had struck him. Seeing Neal die twice in front of his eyes only made the assertion real in the mind of a practical Peter Burke that his chances of survival were extremely dim. But the Peter Burke who knew Neal Caffrey begged to differ. If anybody could pull the impossible, it was him. Perhaps he could even talk _Death_ out of claiming him with that silver tongue of his.

The memory of a flatlined-Neal cut his optimism short.

He'd seen Neal fade twice in the five-minute span between the ground and the ambulance and the second time Neal had faded, Peter had felt something fade within him too. The open yet unseeing eyes was a sight he was paralysed to watch, too stunned to look away. He had never seen Neal's eyes without a twinkle of mischief; the dull and deadened gaze was not just horrific, it punched him in his gut repeatedly until one of the paramedics managed to revive him with chest compressions.

Peter had no idea what happened after that.

The next thing he was conscious about was walking towards the reception, flashing his badge out in reflex as he demanded to know where Neal Caffrey had been taken. They'd directed him to the ER with the sole directive that until the doctor didn't come out, no further information would be available.

And so began Peter's painful wait.

It took him a minute to realize that he hadn't informed anyone about what had happened.

Taking his hands off his head, Peter was about to take his phone out when he noticed his hands clearly for the first time. Bloodied to every pore his palm could contain. And yet his injuries were hidden way beneath the blood of his partner, blood that he'd shed to ensure Peter could have his wife back unscathed at the end of the day. Blood, that Peter was sure his hands would be tainted with for the rest of his life.

The sight made him sick. It was not the first time that he'd lost a partner on the job and yet the fact that it was Neal this time made all the difference in the world. At the end of the day, no matter how many times he'd threatened to put the boy back in jail or had reminded him of owning him until the end of his sentence, nothing changed the fact that he cared about him immensely. And no matter how many undercover missions he went on and conned situations to his advantage, he was a CI at the end of the day, not an agent. He was a civilian. A friend.

A friend whose crimson was drying upon his fingers.

Peter stood up with alarming quickness, the movement making him dizzy yet he didn't care. Making his way to the nearest washroom, he flipped the tap open and let the water run through his fingers, absentmindedly scrubbing his hands clean. But no matter how hard he tried, the stains wouldn't come off. Suddenly snapped back to reality, Peter noticed that his hands were hardly any better from before.

He scrubbed harder. The stains came off a little more.

He used soap. The soap stained red, making Peter hopeful. And yet when he washed his hands off, the pink hue of blood still hadn't left his palms.

Peter used more soap. This time, it didn't make a difference. The stains remained the way it were.

Even before he was aware, Peter let out a scream of frustration. He flung the bloodied soap as far away as he could from his sight, his hands now trembling. It was blood that was never coming off his hands, just like the memory of Neal's lifeless eyes. He then let the first sob wrack his form, not bothering to control his emotions anymore. The last 12 hours had been the most emotionally draining of his life, and if he were to ask himself truthfully, there was no outcome in his mind that had Neal Caffrey dying on his hands.

For once, he'd even pictured the worst happening to his wife (to Keller and even himself) and had taken out his fearful frustration on Neal in every way possible, but he'd never pictured his partner- no, his _friend_ taking the ultimate blow for him. Perhaps he'd convinced himself so starkly of the fact that Neal was always going to be a lying, selfish thief that he refused to see past it.

It took him a minute to remind himself how wrong he was.

Neal had been a lot of things, but he was neither selfish nor a liar. True, most people would pinpoint that lying was the biggest trait of a conman but Peter knew that Neal had never lied to him. He'd omitted facts, certainly. But lied? No.

Peter let his hands run below the tap once more, the cool of the water now comforting the shivers running through them. Letting his thoughts dictate the flow, he found himself travelling back to the first time they'd crossed paths and why he'd ultimately accepted Neal's deal. In their years of playing cat-and-mouse, the first thing that Peter had learned about the elusive conman was the _reason_.

Neal never committed the crimes for greed, money or vengeance. He always did it for the challenge. And that's what set him apart from the rest. He loved a good challenge, just like Peter himself did and that was what had probed him into taking up his deal ultimately. Neal was no saint but he was a modern day hybrid between Robin Hood and Peter Pan with a taste for having cappuccino in the clouds.

Peter laughed.

He knew that Neal had the potential to turn his life around the right path if given a chance. And Peter was desperate to give him one. He'd often discussed with El over dinner during his late nights over _Neal-centric_ cases about why he must have chosen the path of a conman with the kind of skill sets he had. He could have become anything he wanted in life and yet he'd chosen to be _this_. His wife would often reason with the fact that most criminals often sought that path because they had no institution of family to nurture and guide them the right way.

She was right, like always.

It was when he'd started working with the young man that Peter realized just how simple Neal's emotional framework was at the end of the day. All he'd wanted was for someone to accept him for who he really was rather than for who they wanted him to be. And Peter accepted him for that, perhaps being the reason why Neal believed he was the only one he could trust.

 _Trust but verify._

When he'd apprehended Neal for the second time, all the latter had wanted was to find Kate. His own very definition of _Elizabeth_. Since then, work had been a predominant distraction but somewhere down the journey of finding and then losing Kate, he knew that Neal had found a family within the Burkes and with June. His 2-mile radius had become his world and the closest people to him his family. He'd even found redemption in love in the form of one Sara Ellis.

Then how could Peter have been so blinded?

Perhaps it was because of the fact that at the end of the day, he was a law man. And Neal was anything but. Just like it was in his nature to stick by the rulebook and to deem everything out of it as "illegal", it was in Neal's nature to deem everything outside the book as "allegedly tweaking the circumstances in his favour". Was it wrong? Peter couldn't say. Neal's greyer judgment had always brought on the best result in the end for everyone, including himself, and had certainly pushed his clearance rate to 93% from a pushed 77%.

Then why were they where they were at this moment?

Shutting the tap off and wiping his hands clean, Peter walked back to his deserted station only to find Elizabeth and Mozzie now seated along with Jones and Diana. Elizabeth jumped up and flung herself into his arms, and Peter accepted her into his embrace only too eagerly. Her familiar scent grounded him from the brutality of his thoughts. Atleast one out of two got through unscathed.

"Are you okay?" asked Peter, instantly realizing how stupid the question was. El didn't seem to mind though, understanding as she always was.

"I am, yeah. Are you?" she asked as she pulled out of the hug, staring into his eyes like an X-Ray. Whatever he would end up saying otherwise would have been a lie. So he settled, like his _friend_ often did, for the half truth.

"I'll be fine. What are you doing here?" he asked, wondering whether his wife should have been here in the first place after the ordeal she was put through. El smiled sadly.

"Jones and Diana told me everything that'd happened with Keller," Peter could read the intense dislike she had for the man, sailing in the same boat himself. "Moz was with me at the time so we rushed over as soon as we could. How is he?" she asked, big blue eyes boring into his own. Peter felt himself jolt in spite of himself as he felt all pairs of eyes look at him expectantly.

"I don't know, El. I just... don't know," replied Peter, suddenly feeling like he'd aged 20 years since he'd first brought Neal to the hospital. In the background, Peter could see Mozzie tense. Anyone knowing the bald man would have easily attributed it to his hospital-paranoia but Peter knew better. Sensing his turmoil, El pulled his chin up so that they could meet eyes again.

"He's a fighter, hon. If anyone can get through this, it's him."

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Peter laughed harshly. The only reason Neal fought so hard in the first place was because he believed he had finally found a family after all those years of senseless running. And he had only too willingly pushed Neal into the crossfire in exchange for his wife. The con or the man had been the choice.

It took him a minute to bridge the fact that Neal had chosen the man over the con at the end of the line.

And the price he had to pay for his loyalty was going to be in _blood_.

"It depends upon just how much will we- _I've_ left him with to fight for this shackled life," replied Peter darkly, falling upon the vacated seat for the second time as he waited for the answer.

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 **Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**A Minute**

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 **A/N: Hey there everyone! :D Here's the next chapter. :) A small disclaimer though - I'm not very well-versed with medical nitty-gritties so my most sincere apologies in case of any discrepancies. Also, please do share your views after the chapter, I would really like to know how you're liking the story so far.**

 **Not keeping y'all for long,**

 **Happy Reading! :D :D**

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 **Chapter 4**

One hour blended into two; two seeped into three. Three cascaded into four and four dragged itself to five. Peter remained motionless on the seat he'd vacated for his semi-successful attempt at getting the blood off, his head in his hands ever since. And even though he tried to keep his mind occupied with different things, the only thing that kept returning back to him was _the_ moment.

It only made Peter more certain that the inevitable was likelier to happen. And it made his nerves spike on edge the longer it took for the doctor to leave the ER. It was obvious knowledge that the longer it took in the ER, the lesser was the chance of the patient's survival. And Neal was fighting against a lot here. He was born with the spirit of doing the impossible but could his will outdo what his body was struggling to recuperate from at the moment?

His thoughts drowned out the world for him and he was dimly aware about the activities going on. At some point he could hear Diana giving Reese a detailed statement about the situation at hand; Jones telling him that Keller had confessed to the crime while having stolen credits for stealing the U-Boat treasure and was now being backed by the Russian Government; the two of them leaving for the Bureau and making him promise to keep them in the loop about Neal's condition, and Mozzie making frequented trips to the doors of the ER trying to con his way in and assess the situation.

It would have been a lot funnier to watch a nearly-faint Mozzie being brought back to the chair and restrained to it by a hassled nurse had Neal not been on the other side. It only made him dread the obvious more. At another point Peter was aware about a bush of strawberry blonde hair fluffing its way to where he was seated and the brunette of his wife standing up to meet her, soft sobs floating into his ears yet none of the words understandable. It was only when he caught a clearer look did he realize that Sara had found herself a seat next to him.

It took him a minute to realize that she was asking him something.

"-Peter? Are you okay?" she asked, noticing that her question had quite literally fallen upon deaf ears. Peter shook his head, trying to manage a smile that was sure to end in a grimace. But he refused to answer the question. The answer was obvious.

Instead, he shifted the pent-up energy by finally standing up, feeling the blood rush to his legs instantly. Now taking to pacing the corridors, Peter eyed the clock. He didn't know how much longer he could control his instinct to simply storm into the room and shake every doctor until they let him know that the inevitable had happened. The slim hope of otherwise was getting too frightening for him to see crashing around every minute that passed more.

Just when Peter believed his mind was going to explode, one of the doctors made her way to the group while adjusting her blue scrubs into place.

This was the moment of truth. And the moment where Peter lost his voice.

"Family of Mr. Caffrey?" she asked, taking in everyone present in the group. The grim look on her face didn't go amiss by anyone.

"We all are," replied Elizabeth and the doctor's expression softened marginally.

"Mr. Caffrey's case has certainly been amongst the most challenging ones we've had on our hands so far," Peter nearly rolled his eyes at the obviousness of Neal Caffrey as he heard her continue. "The bullet nicked his subclavian artery and also his left lung, causing it to collapse and blood to fill into his pericardial sac. As a result of the complication, Mr. Caffrey faced cardiac arrest on multiple occasions during the surgery. We nearly called it a time of de-"

"Doctor, all of that withstanding," interrupted Mozzie with both his hands raised in surrender, the details too much for him to bear. For the first time though, Peter was only too delighted about the interruption. "Is he going to make it?"

The doctor looked slightly taken aback by the interruption but didn't say anything for the next few seconds. Peter was nearly sure that his heart was trying to make a run for it, feeling his entire body reverberate with the weight of the question. He couldn't read the doctor's face at all, concluding the worse.

And then, she gave a non-committal jerk with her head.

"Mr. Caffrey proved every single hospital personnel wrong in that room with his resilience to live. It's been a demanding procedure but we've finally managed to stabilize him after eight units of blood. We're going to take him to surgery and let the next few hours decide which way this goes. If Mr. Caffrey fights even half this hard for the next few hours, then he definitely stands a chance to make it through."

"What can we do until then?" asked Sara, still looking at a complete loss about how so much had changed in so little time.

"Pray for him, miss. Even if he pulls through surgery, it's going to be a long route to recovery. And this time, he's not going to be able to do it without any of you."

Saying so, the doctor patted her shoulder gently before making her way to the ER again. Peter felt himself let out a huff of breath, relief running into his veins as he looked at his three companions. Neal had pulled through the first round. He would pull through the next round too, he was certain. His optimism was cut short when he stared at the worry and borderline paranoia flicker upon each face that turned to confusion at the sight of his relief.

It took him a minute to realize that nothing had really changed about the ongoing wait.

Neal was still not out of the woods. His chances of survival were still bleak.

And then, he felt anxiety reclaim him like a _bitch_.

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 _Peace had never felt so good._

 _All his life, he'd known anything but. At the age of three, his bubble of innocence had exploded when he'd returned home from playschool in the late afternoon, seeing several men in terrifying uniforms talk to his mother in hushed voices while Auntie Kathryn remained by her side, eyes rimmed and red. His presence had been undiscovered throughout, nobody noticing a two and a half foot child amidst all the humdrum in the house and yet there was one sentence that had remained in his conscience forever._

 _"He's not going to come back, Lizzie. James isn't going to make it out this time." It was his favourite aunt, Kathryn. The same sentence over and over and fear grew paramount. James was what his dada was known as. Why wouldn't he make it out? Didn't he just promise to be back home early in the evening when he'd told his dada bye in the morning? Then why wouldn't he come home?_

 _Hearing the men in uniform talk even more angrily, he grew more frightened. He could see that they were troubling his mother. And his Auntie Kathryn was helpless. It was mortifying, the wait. And then, the first sob escaped his lips. The sound instantly caught the attention of his mama, who ran towards him and shielded him in her arms. Her comforting scent reached him and he calmed in her embrace, her warmth as soothing as always. When they separated, he looked at his mother, the sentence still ringing in his mind._

 _"Where's dada?"_

 _Silence was all that greeted him. He vividly remembered her expression harden, the new look on her face foreign to him. He'd never seen her this way before. She took a minute before her gaze softened, rubbing her thumb over his cheek like the way he loved it. It always made him laugh, but not today. Today, he was scared._

 _"Dada's... gone somewhere, Neal."_

 _"When will he come back?"_

 _"We will come to know soon."_

 _"Are you going to leave me too?"_

 _"No, sweetheart. Never. Mama's always going to be there with you."_

 _That was the first time his mother had lied to him. The second time he was lied to in the day. And the last time his mother would ever embrace him._

 _Three months later, they'd shifted from Washington to St. Louis. And had changed names. His mother now called him Danny. And she was now known as Mitchell even though Lizzie was much prettier on her. His aunt's name had also been changed to Ellen. It was on his third birthday when she'd told him that his father was not coming back. He'd died in the line of duty, she told him proudly. As though on cue, his mother produced a star in front of him, a star that had captivated his attention ever since. It was a badge of valour, she'd told him, stuffing the star in his hand._

 _"Your father went out in a hail of gunfire taking down a whole gang of bad guys," had been her view about his father's fate as she waved the star at him._

 _It was a beautiful star._

 _It was also the first forgery he'd seen in his life._

 _It was also the last birthday his mother celebrated with him._

 _For the years to come, he was alone for most of the time. His Aunty Ellen would get him ready for school and would review his homework late at night. His mother would disappear for days on end, often coming back home either drunk or high. She would barricade herself in her room for the remainder of her stay, he often having to clean up after her. It was the life._

 _It was probably why he loved school. School, unlike home, was an amazing place to be. New people, new things to learn, new challenges to face. And a lot of colour! Whenever people asked about his family, Aunty Ellen had trained him with two answers - my father died a hero, my mother is unwell. She would make it a point to attend all his PTAs._

 _He also knew over time that he was what people usually called "financially backwards". He couldn't get to school on time, there was no bus, and he'd often be punished. But he found his way through that. His first unsuccessful attempt had been to change the school time and set it 30 minutes late._

 _It was the first time he'd learnt to pick locks._

 _His second unsuccessful attempt had been to create diversions on the road so that the bus would have to pass through his place. It was not like anyone was at home to supervise an 8-year old running on the roads unguarded. And it had worked too for a few days!_

 _It was the first time he'd learnt to tweak circumstances in his favour._

 _But his third attempt had been a success. He'd simply made a copy of his Aunt Ellen's city pass after she mentioned it to be an easier way to school. He'd made her describe the routes and had snuck her pass out in the wee hours of the morning, forging it as good as he could. He had to try a couple of times but when he was done, it was good._

 _And then, he was never late._

 _It was the first time he knew he had a little conman alive in him._

 _Seeing his academic progress, his school decided to sponsor his education up to high school. He was a model student, the best in all subjects discussed and won his school a lot of accolades in competitions. He was a natural in art and literature and everyone's blue eyed boy. But he was also mischievous, something most teachers let pass only because of his charm with words. Even back then, there were few who could resist the charm of Danny Brooks._

 _High school was about to end and the choices of life seeped in. He wanted to become a police officer. It was something he'd known ever since Ellen had first shown him the badge of valour his late father had received. Ellen had been training him with arms unofficially for years and like everything else he was a natural at, he was with guns too. He was a crack shot just like her. At times he would catch her staring at him with moist eyes when he'd make impossibly great shots for an unbelievably tender age and he assumed it to be with pride that he was following his father's footsteps._

 _That perception changed with his 18th birthday._

 _He had never told Ellen until then that he had some form of kleptomania even though he suspected that she knew. Anything worth a decent value, he liked nicking. Not because he wanted to own it but it was the challenge of actually nicking it that he loved. He loved magic tricks. And in his time away from school and art, he practised tricks. Tricks that would one day turn into techniques of a con._

 _But his aunty had no idea. He liked to believe that he'd made her proud. Her and his late father. Ofcourse no one could know about his little habit if he wanted to become a law enforcement officer. Officers were honest and so was his Dad. He didn't want to do anything that would prove otherwise. He didn't know what his mother thought about him, though. He hadn't seen her since three months now._

 _Ellen had told him a few years ago that his mother was what people would term a depressed alcoholic. He didn't need more details. He took care of her whenever she would return home, no questions asked._

 _And there she was, on his 18th birthday, drunk and screaming at the top of her voice. About how his father had ruined her life and had betrayed her trust. About how he was a dirty cop who traded for the islands in exchange of a corrupt payroll rotting at Rikers. And that's when Ellen had sat him down. And had told him the truth._ _His father was no hero; he was a dirty cop in WitSec like them. The reason why his mother was a mental alcoholic. The reason why his name was changed from Neal Bennett to Danny Brooks._

 _The reason his life had been a lie._

 _He couldn't take it, not anymore. All these years, he'd believed in his father. Believed that his father had died trying to bring down a corrupt syndicate. Only, now he finally knew the truth. His father was the corrupt syndicate who had also killed a man. He'd destroyed the sanctity of his life. He'd destroyed the sanctity of his mother's life. He'd destroyed the man he wanted to become in life - an honest officer who would save the day just like his father did._

 _He was done living the lie. He was done with everyone._

 _He didn't wait for Ellen to continue. Instead, he went to his room, picked up his packed bag for college and walked out the front door, his aunt's pleas falling upon deaf ears. His mother had passed out in the corner somewhere. He had only left two possessions behind - the fake badge of valour and the licensed gun Ellen had given him at the age of 10. It was a necessity he had to adopt with the kind of neighbourhood and company he found his mother in time and again and was only too happy to have its security upon several occasions._

 _But now, the first image the gun brought on was his father standing over an dead body, having shot the man himself with a cruel smile on his face._

 _It made him sick. It made him very, very sick._

 _Slamming the door shut to his rotted cocoon, he walked into the night like a demon possessed until some extent of his anger wore off. The fairly chill night finally got to him at some point, forcing him to stop and catch his breath. His thoughts were out of control and yet one thought was clear._

 _He had had it._

 _He'd often wondered why he loved walking down the road of misdeeds and lies ever so often. He realized now that it was genetic. Living the lies had made him used to it. No family and no money had only damned his needs more. And that had become the motto of his life since then - to let money compensate for everything, even the forged bonds of family. His ultimate goal? Cappuccino in the clouds._

 _All his peers and faculty members deemed him to be born with a lot of talent that would take him places in life. He had an eye for detail, was always curious and never shied away from a challenge. The three greatest makings of a successful man. But in spite of the dual deception of his misdeeds that was somehow either ignored or never discovered, a lot of people loved the ever laughing and vivacious Danny Brooks._

 _And that was the first time he realized the importance of a façade._

 _His mother had been a PhD holder from Columbia University and he saw what she ultimately made of her life. His father was supposed to be a hero but he was nothing more than a criminal in the robes of the law force. They were both failures. But he wouldn't have any such thing happening to him. An honest man's work never really brought happiness in the end. Nor did heroes or families. The challenges of doing the impossible did. He didn't care about not graduating high school or even college. He'd make his mark in the world with all the odds in his favour._

 _Beg, borrow or steal._

 _And as he made his way towards the St. Louis station with a ticket to Washington sitting in his palm from the money he'd saved as a lawn mower, he knew that he was not just leaving behind his life. He was leaving behind his past, and with it, his existence too. But to know who he really was, he had to return to his roots._

 _A lady in her mid-40s sat beside him and smiled. She too seemed to have the same destination._

 _"Travelling to the big city, young man?"_

 _"Yes ma'am."_

 _"Call me Debra, sweetheart. What do I call you though?" she asked, a pleasant smile on her face. And that's when he'd first used all the training from the life of 15 years of lies. Flashing the biggest smile he could muster, his eyes twinkling with the adrenaline of the life he was about to embark upon, he replied on impulse._

 _"Caffrey. You can call me Neal Caffrey."_

A sudden cold swept through the peace, making him shiver violently. And the pain that hit him seconds later sent him back into the same world of darkness even before he could figure out how Washington Union Station had morphed into several blue figures with scrubs, who materialized into thin nothings even as he heard his name being called into the distance.

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 **Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**A Minute**

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 **A/N: Hey there everyone! :D Here's the next chapter!**

 **Happy Reading! :D :D**

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 **Chapter 5**

 _Washington had been a tale of his own._

 _Stepping out of Washington Union Station, he'd found accommodation with the kind Afro-American lady who'd travelled with him. She seemed to have taken an instant liking to him and after tweaking a couple of facts here and there, she decided to let him stay over at a minimal rent charge. What he was going to do, even he didn't know. But he was going to figure it out._

 _Settling into the new (or old) place had not stirred any memories of nostalgia within him whatsoever. Instead, his mind remained focused on the task of trying to retrieve all sorts of information about his father. He tried getting into contact with the dark web but he couldn't hack into the US Marshall's database. Not without having a solid amount in return._

 _And so, after being cooped for 3 months with all desperate attempts and his money waning out, he decided that he'd have to get his hands over something. And the only way to earn easy money was to scout rich people. For his fortune though, his landlady fit the bill. In the three months of his arrival, he'd been a part of more than two dozen Class-A parties, watching money and liquor flow faster than the currents of the river. And while he often managed to nick thing around here and there without anyone's notice, he realized just how unfair it all was._

 _They didn't deserve to blow money this way. They could have easily donated these funds to scholarship funds or charities or start-ups or even something that was meant to contribute to the society in some way. Not blow money over clothes and biz and just everything unwantedly "show". By the end of his fifth month, he resented the whole class even though he'd converted his nicks to a decent cash amount. Debra barely stayed at home and she mostly never had any idea about what he'd be up to._

 _He would spend the days pouring over art books and learning different techniques, making use of an old, rusty attic to practice painting in his free time. It kept his nerves calm for the parties in the evening he'd become a regular pickpocketer at. He'd cashed stuff worth $8570 dollars so far and he needed another $6430 to finally get him access into his father's file. And like everything good came to an end, so did this._

 _It was during one of the parties when he'd nicked a woman's bracelet. And for his misfortune, the bracelet wasn't anything ordinary but belonged to a rich ancestral heirloom dating back to a King. While he'd managed avoiding detection and had let the bracelet slip off on a couch, everyone had bought the cover story except for Debra. That night, she sat him down and called him out on it. And even though lying had been second nature, he couldn't deny the fact that she'd given him food, clothes and a roof over his head and had given him a free hand at everything. And he'd trespassed over her loyalty._

 _She agreed not to call the cops as long as he left the apartment the next morning, and that was as sweet a deal as an 18-year could get._

 _For the remainder six months, he found his home in park benches and car backseats, the car being different every night as he lived on an alarm. Sleep at 8, wake at 3. The rest of the day would go in the library, studying about more art and artefacts. Ever since the bracelet fiasco, he'd taken a newfound interest in learning about all kinds of precious pieces out there. And the more they mingled with artistic history, the more his fancy grew. But his mission had not been forgotten. He still needed the money for gaining access to his files but he had no means anymore._

 _Sure, he could rob stores or anything of the likes but it somehow lacked that glamour he'd grown used to. Stealing from the rich made sense, especially given the fact that they never noticed their loss. Robbing from the poor was neither his intention nor his nature. There were nights that got too cold and kept him awake, making him wonder about just how good he'd gotten in pulling off these little cons. It was not like anyone had taught him stealth techniques and yet here he was, mastering the art like no other. He would have made a brilliant undercover agent, he often mused. Easy on the eyes and charming with the ladies._

 _Just like James Bond._

 _It was one of his days in the library when he heard a couple of students whispering in another section. Whispering about how to complete their theses for their PhD papers due for evaluation. Two out of five had their papers on art backgrounds. One set in the Impressionist period and one set into the Renaissance. And that's when a door to his problem opened._

 _"I hear you guys talking about your paper and I couldn't help but approach you guys. I'm an art major myself and if you want, I could really assist you with it."_

 _"Really? You look our age though," replied one of the girls. He smiled._

 _"I am, but I got into art school early. Don't mean to be immodest, but I completed my thesis in 3 months."_

 _"Wow, sounds like you're a genius. So, you can help us with our papers then?"_

 _"I can, definitely. But I will need a small down payment for the same. These papers are not easy to crack."_

 _"How much would you take if you had to write the entire paper on your own?"_

 _"$500."_

 _"Dude, $500 dollars? You've got to be kidding me," mentioned one of the boys with the art paper._

 _"I could be but I guarantee that no one is going to see a project like yours in your faculty members. My guarantee," he replied and he knew they were turning his offer over in their minds. At long last, the boy in question sighed._

 _"Fine, we're in. We need these papers by March 2nd."_

 _"You'll have them by 1st March."_

 _And so had resumed his journey of earning his bread. He managed to stick to the timeline and out of the five papers written, both his art papers managed to get past, being touted as a fresh perspective on timeless art. Those had been his first two doctorates. Word spread fast and before he knew it, he was approached in the library by various students setting up unconventional meets for more project/paper/exam handouts. By the end of four months, he'd made far above $5000. But even beyond that, he was no longer just informed about the various styles and strokes of art. He now had sufficient knowledge about bonds, stocks, markets, classic literature, law, technology and security._

 _Everything a conman needed in his arsenal._

 _After the end of another two months, he'd officially earned two doctorates in Art and Finance and three MBA degrees specializing in Finance, Marketing and Information Management, having officially passed the final examination/thesis. And then, he had enough money to finally unlock his father's file. Yet by the time he actually got down to that path, he realized that he didn't care anymore. He liked the simple yet devious life that Neal Caffrey had made for himself. He lived now in a rented apartment, earned a fairly decent bread for a 19-year old and had self-educated himself in more than one stream._

 _He was not on the radar anymore, having dodged the heat of the police search for him in the first three months of his escape from St. Louis. Somehow, he figured that she'd gotten wind of his intentions to stay away and had kept things that way since. He didn't want to open the wounds that were finally beginning to close and he preferred believing that he had no family rather than recall the wreck of parents he'd been born to._

 _Ellen had given him the closest sanctity of a normal life that she could but somewhere deep down he knew that even though he was always going to love her and be indebted to her, it wasn't enough to give him a normal childhood. Or even a childhood for that matter. Some damages stayed. This would too. He would send her a postcard every now and then to keep in touch and the fact that Ellen understood meant a lot._

 _And so, after laying low and incognito for a year with favourable spells of a decent income, he decided that Washington wasn't doing it for him. He needed something more, something whose gleam would catch his eye in an instant, just like the trinkets coming to Debra's party. And that gleam was New York. Stepping onto Grand Central Station had been bizarre in its adrenaline rush, but when he'd stepped into the world that was dubbed the Big Apple, he knew instantly that he'd fallen in love with the city._

 _There was a strange intoxication that he'd never experienced before, something that only brought out the hopelessly romantic in him. Spending a month just exploring the city and the glamourous luxury it held, he happened to cross paths with Mozzie. And God knows how that had changed his life since. It had been a blur of an addiction since, a rush that started with Vincent Adler and trying to nail the "whale" to pulling off some of the greatest heists and forgeries just to draw out one Kate Moreau's attention._

 _She'd been the unexpected loop in his idea of life. And yet he'd fallen head over heels in love with her. He'd been with several women during his time in Washington, but no one had caught his fancy like Kate did. Not even Alex. Kate, the woman who'd finally given him purpose to use his skills for. To build a life away from the humdrum of mundanity and into the luxury of Paris. He was willing to give her anything and everything she wanted, even if it were the moon._

 _Sometimes he wondered whether he was trying to buy her love._

 _Copenhagen had turned to Berlin, Berlin to Istanbul, Istanbul to London, London to Belgium and several exotic locations he'd spent his year away in exile with Mozzie by his side. Time had tested his partnership with Mozzie, both of them risking their lives for each other every now and again and he'd found a genuine brother in Mozzie. The small man wasn't by any terms conventional. Going by Teddy Winters, he was another kid in foster care who was lost and abandoned by the system. He was paranoid, delusional and wary of any government and normal but was abnormally well-read and had an amazing sense of instinct and judgment._

 _On the job, it was always experience that worked with Mozzie and he couldn't believe just how much he'd learnt from the little man, be it in terms of doing crazy research, learning on job techniques and knowing when it is instinct and when it is impulse. He realized soon into the job that Mozzie was flexible but he hated impulsive improvisation, something that he was only too much of an expert at. But they found their jam nonetheless._

 _That is, until Peter Burke happened._

 _Technically Peter Burke had happened two years prior to his arrest. But arrested at the cost of finding Kate was a stake he was willing to play and pay both. He'd first crossed paths with the agent when he'd encashed some his own forged bonds and since then it had been the ride of his life. Nobody had ever shown such delightful interest in him all his life except for Peter Burke._

 _Till Kate was in the picture, he preferred keeping a low profile just because of Mozzie not wanting to get implicated with the FBI. But once she decided to take off and leave Neal in the dark about her whereabouts, he'd grown reckless. He cared not about the stakes anymore. He was willing to do anything to gain her attention and pull her out of hiding. There were more than several occasions when Mozzie made it clear that he didn't really see the appeal in Kate that he did and the fact that she didn't love him for who he was but for the man she could use him as. A conman._

 _It was the time he'd finally gotten a taste for blood. For the life of luxury, in his own very terms. It had started off as filling the void of Kate with money but it soon turned to become "expensive taste"._ _He'd been surrounded by rich people and their snobbish habits for far too long to have not been influenced by it. His early youth had a different perspective, his setting years had another._

 _He was still young, the rush of the con brought on excitement, luxury and comfort. And he had the right people to share it with. He had everything in that moment. Maybe eluding the presence of Kate but he knew she would never leave him, contrary to Mozzie's opinion. She was just upset. He'd talk her out of it and it'd be a happily ever after._

 _But somewhere down turning a deaf ear to Mozzie's constant pessimism, his own romanticism of life and his growing reputation in the grey world as the connoisseur of art, he'd built another unconventional bond. With Peter Burke. He would never admit, but as much as the agent's presence intimidated Mozzie, it intrigued him. There was a certain kind of attention the agent paid to his every single detail, attention that no one had ever paid. Neither his mother, not Ellen, not Mozzie and certainly not Kate._

 _Kids in his school would often talk about how they'd play hide and seek with their parents and boastfully spoke of their wondrous experiences. Absurd as it was, Neal always got the same kind of kick with Peter on his trail. And as time grew, he made it a point to learn as much about the agent as the agent had been learning about him. Neither of them were unaware about each other's existence. It was just a matter of who would break first - the hiding kid or the exasperated parent._

 _He wouldn't deny that the more heists he pulled successfully, the more impulsive he grew. His techniques became legend, his talent immaculate and his attitude what Peter shamelessly loved touting as "cocky". Soon, he would throw breadcrumbs for Peter to follow, to make the chase more interesting. He'd send over birthday cards, anniversary cards and at times would even send over dinner or a bottle of champagne at the surveillance van. And while Peter believed that to only mean arrogance, he knew somewhere deep down that it was more than that._

 _It was common knowledge by now that he only stole from the rich and he disliked the use of firearms even in jobs nearly compromised. And that was an established MO. The sheer truth though was that he liked taking care of the agent. Why? Maybe because for the first time he felt like someone had noticed his true potential. For the first time, there was someone who didn't see him as a cash cow and just saw him for who he was. For the first time, someone had given him the attention he'd craved all his life. Peter Burke made the adrenaline rush of the job go ten times higher._

 _In spite of faking his death twice, he'd made sure to let Peter know somehow. He'd grown used to the old man's attention and couldn't find himself at ease knowing that there would be no adrenaline rush if the agent believed him dead. Kate was always a priority in his mind, Ellen and he communicated via a burner phone he'd given her after their last meet in New York, but he trusted Peter Burke enough to know that the agent would stop at nothing to catch him - dead or alive. Peter had lived up to his trust._

 _In jail, once Kate stopped visiting (and Mozzie never showed up), he would often find himself thinking about life outside bars and what if he'd actually gone down the path he'd wanted to as a child. A law force agent. Someone like Peter Burke. The thought alone would make his chest swell with momentary pride before his orange jumpsuit would remind him of the evident truth. He could never go down that path now. A criminal was not accepted at Quantico. Base rule._

 _And boy, how wrong he was._

 _When he lost trail of Kate the second time and faced an additional four years of prison at the hands of Peter Burke, he knew what he was going to do. It was a scenario he loved playing out as much as him and Kate sipping Bordeaux in Paris. He offered Peter the deal that changed his life forever. And surprisingly yet unsurprisingly, Peter had accepted it even though his hesitance was only too natural._

 _Peter ended up giving him not just a life outside prison, but a family outside prison too._

 _And the first stop had been June. What took him out from that filthy motel to the second hand store, he wouldn't know till date. But when he saw June for the first time, it had reminded him only too strongly of a similar lady who'd once given him his life in Washington. A woman who's trust he'd broken. And when June so willingly seemed to step into Debra's shoes, he knew he couldn't double cross this kind of generosity again. He told her the truth._

 _And his reward? Cappuccino in the clouds._

 _Peter had been pissed beyond belief at his good fortune and somehow it made him extremely happy. There was a warmth he felt welcome to from Peter that engaged his mind in more productive ventures, having left Mozzie with the task of finding Kate. With his first case, he was only too eager to prove a point and make his arrangement permanent. But his two-mile radius had a different rush._

 _A rush that brought him home when he visited Peter Burke's house for the first time. The door had been answered by one beautiful Elizabeth Burke, whose name brought a slight gush to his heart. Elizabeth Caffrey. His mother's maiden name. She'd welcomed him into her house like an old guest and had chatted her way into being the warm hostess she was, even letting him pet Satchmo._

 _Peter looked like his head was going to fly off the sky at the union._

 _Since then, his life had changed forever. What had begun as just one case had ended up being a career, the rush of planning a con without actually committing it only too lucrative. He got to test the boundary of rules and his radius time and again, bending and tweaking it to his convenience as he and Peter solved high-end White Collar cases and saved the day. They would be a lot more dangerous than it came off at times, but Peter always had his back._

 _He always did, no matter what._

 _Saving his life from Avery, stealing the surveillance tape for him, finding him Kate again, letting him make the choice between his freedom and Kate and seemingly being the one to save him from the blast, introducing Sara into his life, helping him crack the music box and then out of the U-Boat treasure business with Adler and even saving his and Mozzie's life. And his ass-on-the-line on multiple occasions with his career on stake._

 _It had been difficult to accept the fact that Kate never loved him really. And her death had only been tat extra blow that drove him spiralling to a place he'd first visited when he was 18. But this time he wasn't alone. He had Peter to keep him guarded on the right path, ever vigilant and aware about what was happening where. And he always had Mozzie to help him out during his more impulsive moments. His angel and demon._

 _A view to kill for, cappuccino in the clouds, a warm family, people who genuinely cared about him and an amazing job. It was everything he could ask for. Years ago he had once believed that he'd had everything. He'd not been entirely wrong back then, he'd just been living the daydream like Sara had so truthfully told him. He had everything now and this was something he'd come to conclude in spite of Peter broadcasting the same phrase over and over again against his threats of prison._

 _But it was when he saw young Scott try to make his way into the world like he did that he realized just how much he treasured this new shot at life. A two-mile radius may have not been much but it had given him everything he'd ever wanted from life as a child. He'd told Peter at the end of that case that change was not overnight. It took time but people did eventually change._

 _He knew he wasn't entirely correct. But he also knew that the biggest reason to change was the right person._

 _Somewhere down the line, for the first time in his life he'd sound someone he was willing to change for that wasn't ironically Kate. Someone who saw him for who he really was, beyond all facades and smiles. Someone who didn't force him to change but gave him the chance to with an honest man's living. Someone who may not trust him with his silver but did with his life. His family. His career. Himself._

 _They always worked on the 'trust but verify' rule and it made sense. At the end of the day there a line that Neal had crossed far along and Peter couldn't. It's what kept this partnership on course. And what he had crossed beyond repair this time. Peter had trusted him with everything and yet he'd put Elizabeth in harm's way._

"El..."

"Honey, he's stirring!"

"He better have a good reason for taking my wife's name in his sleep!"

 _It was his fault that she was going to die at Keller's hand._

"No..."

"Neal, it's alright. You're alright."

 _It was his fault that Peter would never see eye to eye with him ever again._

"Peter, don't go..."

"I'm right here, bud."

 _It was his fault why he'd lost his friend's trust... and maybe even his friend forever._

"I..."

"I'll go get the doctor."

 _It was his fault why he had lost everything, including his freedom._

 _He just wanted to go home. Back to the Burkes living room, warm and cosy. Or in his own apartment with Sara wrapped in his arms as he gazed onto the million-dollar view from the balcony. But he knew that his peace had drawn to an end. There was an incessant beeping as voices now filled his peaceful space, most of them unfamiliar. And yet amongst them was the one he sought the most._

 _If he wanted the voice to stay, he knew he had to open his eyes. The game was up._

 _It took him a minute to make up his mind._

Mustering all his strength, Neal let his eyes push open, instantly shutting it against the offensive light. The voices around him slowly faded away, leaving behind only one. Blinking his eyes a couple of times, he pushed them open victoriously, his search cut short as Peter floated into his line of vision with a ghost of a smile plastered on his face.

"Welcome back home, Neal."

* * *

 **Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**A Minute**

* * *

 **A/N: Hey there everyone! :D Here's the next chapter! :)**

 **Happy Reading! :D :D**

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

"Peter," croaked Neal, taking in his surroundings clearly for the first time. His last conscious memory had been of him in Peter's house as the FBI sealed off the kitchen and the older man had looked at him with raw pain in his eyes, uttering four words that he knew had changed his life forever.

 _"He took my wife."_

And suddenly Neal couldn't breathe, the guilt weighing down upon him too much to bear. He'd once betrayed a woman's trust in spite of her giving him a new life to lead. He'd done the same with Peter.

"Neal, calm down. It's okay. Everything's okay," cut through Peter's voice as his smile fizzled into lines of worry, one hand upon his shoulder as though to ground him to reality. He looked into Peter's eyes to see genuine care and concern and yet he didn't feel like he deserved it. He deserved prison. Nothing else.

"Neal, breathe," repeated Peter, suddenly looking slightly panicked. But Peter never panicked. Then why did he look that way? Perhaps it was El. It had to be. Peter obviously couldn't let him die that easily, he was responsible for avenging his wife. The machines beeped shrilly but he couldn't care less about it. It didn't matter where he was or why he hurt. He deserved whatever he got. Karma, as some called it.

"Honey, what's going on with him?"

The voice that cut through the chaos set his hair on edge. It couldn't be. How could it be? El was dead. He'd seen the state of her house. Disarrayed kitchen, fallen upon the floor disgracefully as he ran out of the house without looking back, _Ellen_ hot on his heels.

"I don't know hon, he seems to be hyperventilating," caught Neal through snatches of mixed images. Neal shut his eyes to stave off the nausea. He could hear voices in the background but he couldn't muster the strength to hear what they were saying. He was tired and he wanted to go back to his peace. He was very, very tired.

It took him a minute to drown everything out and fade into oblivion.

-x-

The next time he was conscious about opening his eyes, it was somewhere around sunset, the evening dusk blazing through the window in beautiful rays of orange. He looked around the room to find Elizabeth sitting next to him.

"Hey sweetie, how do you feel?" she asked softly, her voice instantly letting warmth surge through his heart and into his tingling fingertips as she brushed aside a few stray locks of hair.

"I'm okay, I guess," he replied. He could feel a dull ache in his chest and a bandage around his head. But apart from the couple of wires he was attached to, he felt a little more grounded to reality. His head felt devoid of thoughts - nothing before, nothing after. Just in the moment. Sensing the grated stones in his throat, Elizabeth stood up and brought him a cup of water that Neal sipped upon only too eagerly.

"Do you know where you are?" she asked once she set the Styrofoam cup aside and reclaimed her seat. Neal looked around, eyes instantly falling upon a neatly folded blanket and an open book turned on its face but regretted the agility of his action, his head beginning to ache. Readjusting his view, it wasn't hard to deduce with the wires attached to him and the sterile smell where he was.

"Hospital? Why?" he asked, suddenly confused. He let his hand travel to the bandages on his chest and his head, looking at Elizabeth for an answer.

"What do you remember last?"

Neal let his eyes shut, his mind now stirring out of its stupor. As minutes fell by, Neal felt the memories come back one after the other, the cogwheels of his mind now falling into pace. And yet the last thing he consciously remembered was going to the Burkes' house to find out that Elizabeth had been kidnapped. A momentary panic resurfaced but seeing El in front of his was an instant reminder that she was alright.

"Going to your house and Peter telling me that he'd taken you."

"You don't remember quite a bit then. Okay, so after that, Peter and you worked together to find Keller while the Bureau led the investigation on finding me. You contacted Mozzie and together, the three of you managed to keep Keller occupied long enough for me to get rescued. But there was a point where you and Keller had to get separated from them and he tried to make a run for it after getting his hands on the treasure. You confronted him and he shot you."

That explained the ache in his chest.

"Luckily Peter found you just moments after he shot you. He managed to arrest Keller and get you here in time. It's been touch and go for nearly three days but you made it through. Don't try talking too much though, your lung still requires time to heal completely."

That explained why he felt so drained of air. He put his hand on the bandage on his head and El sighed.

"He must have knocked you out twice or thrice with what Peter suspects is some Staff of Napoleon. The impact caused a clot to happen in your brain along with some swelling but the MRI yesterday finally gave you a clean bill for that injury. You may experience heaviness in your head and maybe nausea or dizziness for a few weeks but there's no lasting damage."

Neal nodded. It was quite a bit of information to take in but El broke it down gently enough that perhaps no doctor could. He was about to smile when he remembered about the fact that this had all begun with her kidnapping.

"Are you okay?" he asked as an afterthought, knowing that his question was inadequate for the ordeal she must have been through. He noticed her expression harden at some distant thought, quickly softening again when she met eyes with him.

"Your question is a little ironic but yes, I'm perfectly okay," she replied with a smile on her face, her eyes understanding. "You and Peter nailed that _son of a bitch_ ," she added, Neal's attention instantly drawn to Peter's absence.

"Where-"

"I sent him home to freshen up," she informed, saving him the trouble of completing his question. Now that he'd fully woken up, Neal could feel his chest grow a little uncomfortable. "He's camped out here for quite some time and everyone decided that he needed a change of atmosphere."

"Everyone?" he asked, using the air in his lungs cautiously. Somehow, even the little he spoke seemed to drain him of air and energy. El caught on to his discomfort, instantly raising his bed to a more comfortable angle. She was about to buzz the nurse station in when he caught her wrist, shaking his head. He needed to know a few things before he was treated for the pain. His memory was incomplete and his brain felt dead, his thoughts completely over the place and out of reach.

"Me, Mozzie, Sara, Jones, Diana and June," Elizabeth settled back, looking worried but decided to answer his question nonetheless. Neal couldn't believe it. There was not a single person on the list he'd not disappointed. June could be an exception but the rest...

"You were all here... _for me_?" asked Neal, the incredulity in his voice not lost upon. "Why?" he asked again, suddenly shamefaced. He couldn't bear meeting eyes with her, not after everything that's happened. He did not deserve her kindness and her care.

El seemed to disagree.

"Because you're family. You may be a notoriously exhausting kid to keep up with but that doesn't mean that we don't love you."

Neal took a minute to let her words sink in. Nobody had ever loved him in his life, perhaps Ellen being an exception. If nobody could love him at his best, how was it that these people loved him at his worst? Perhaps El was being kind because he was hurt and his injuries sounded scary when thought upon with a practical mind. Maybe he'd scared her. But he was too sluggish to put much thought into it.

So he did the next best thing. He smiled at her in gratitude.

Moments passed and El continued to sit beside him, now stroking his forehead slowly. He instantly shut his eyes to the touch, the memory of another woman doing the same for him as a child popping out of nowhere before he shoved it aside. It was bad enough that he couldn't remember the recent past without having to go back to chapters he'd long since drowned out.

"I can't remember anything after that moment... the moment Peter told me that you'd been taken," whispered Neal without realizing he'd spoken the words out loud. He opened his eyes to find Elizabeth giving him a sympathetic look.

"The doctor said this was natural to happen in a concussion so don't strain your mind too much. Let me call the doctor now, I can sense your pain increasing," added El, noticing Neal drift in and out of the conversation. And while he didn't want to be sedated again, he didn't mind something for the pain. His chest was definitely beginning to grow heavy, so was his head.

El stood up and buzzed the nurse station, now on her feet as she waited for someone to evaluate him. Neal felt the ticking seconds gnaw at him, not knowing whether it was the burden of his guilt that made his chest heavy or his injuries. Whatever the cause, he had to get it out. He didn't expect forgiveness but if anyone would understand the depth of his regret, it was El.

"I'm sorry... for lying to Peter about the treasure. I didn't steal it but I had it. And I didn't come clean. And then Mozzie made me choose and I choose to stay back and-"

"-I know about _everything_ that happened, Neal," cut El, catching onto his distress through the heart monitor that picked up an increased pulse. She gave him a genuine smile and it was for the first time he noticed the dark circles beneath the brilliant blue of her eyes.

But she continued, unaware about his insights.

"I also know that when it came to me, you willingly sacrificed the treasure and put yourself wholly to my rescue mission. I also know that you were the only person who managed to keep Peter sane in those 12 hours by letting him make you his punching bag. I also know that you willingly stepped into the crossfire to save me when you could have easily fled away with Mozzie."

It took Neal a minute to gather his breath and answer.

"Keller wouldn't have come behind you had it not been for the treasure," he countered with grit teeth, the thought of the double-crossing Brit leaving a sour taste in his mouth. El cocked a challenging eyebrow.

"And Keller wouldn't have been behind bars had it not been for you."

"Peter hates me, doesn't he? For what happened?" wheezed Neal, unable to keep the grunt out of his voice as he shifted ever so slightly.

"He isn't happy about the situation but I think hate would be taking it too far," replied El, her eyes curious. She'd been expecting the question, then. But no matter what she said, Neal wasn't convinced. He wouldn't be until he heard it from Peter's very mouth, perhaps.

Even he didn't know what he needed to hear to convince him otherwise.

"I crossed a line I can't come back from. He would never take me back as his friend," added Neal in a defiance that would have been terrifying had his lungs not begun to feel like they would catch fire soon.

Elizabeth sighed.

"If you're weren't his friend anymore, why do you think he refused to leave your side until the doctor took you off the medically induced coma? It's not like you were a flight risk with your life barely hanging by a thread, you know," she added, eyes now shrewd. Neal was about to retort when he understood what she was implying, closing his mouth again.

So Peter had stayed with him then. Surely that meant Peter still thought of him as a friend!

But he was too afraid to let hope bloom.

It took him to minute to realize that El was talking to him, nothing of which he'd caught. He was about to apologize when the doctor stepped in with a nurse, and she smiled, leaving a kiss on his forehead. He shut his eyes involuntarily.

"Catch some sleep, Neal. You're alive and I couldn't have been more thankful but you still look terrible."

-x-

It was bright and sunny when he roused from his sleep next, the room nearly empty sans the solitary presence of a man with a glass of wine in his hand. Neal smiled in spite of himself.

"Good to see you awake, mon frère."

"It's good to see you too, Moz," replied Neal, feeling a little better from the previous night. He figured that the effects of the opioids hadn't worn off yet.

"You came back," stated Neal after a while and Mozzie turned serious. The underlying meaning didn't go amiss.

"I had to for Mrs. Suit," replied Mozzie, the evasion barely hidden. He sighed before continuing. "She tells me that you don't recollect much about the entire incident."

"I don't, no," confirmed Neal awkwardly and conversation died down. "Do they really allow you to drink wine in the hospital?" he asked in a not-so-subtle attempt to keep things _normal_ , slightly relieved that he wasn't going out of air too much.

"We always long for the forbidden things and desire what is denied us. Francois Rabelais," added Mozzie in identification while raising his glass. Neal smirked.

"Charming. I'm surprised you're sitting here with me at the moment though, forbidden as your love for hospitals is," let Neal out with perfectly-laced sarcasm but Mozzie had tensed up for real this time, eyes now downcast. Neal dreaded what was to come next.

"I owe you an apology, Neal."

"Moz, it's not your fault," began Neal, exasperated with his last semblance of normality biting the dust. "-it was my choice to keep the knowledge about the treasure to myself-"

"I wasn't talking about the treasure. I was talking about abandoning you when you needed me most," cut Mozzie, voice now deadpanned. Neal was at a loss at what was going on.

" I don't understand-"

"No, you most certainly don't!" snapped Mozzie, taking Neal by surprise. Mozzie _never_ snapped. Quipped, yes. Argued, yes. Reasoned, yes. Vented, yes. But snapped? _Never_. By the time Mozzie continued, Neal was a little intimidated.

"Do you know how hard it's been on all of us in these last 15 days, 5 of which you were put into a medically induced coma, 6 of which you still didn't regain consciousness in because of the head trauma and the one after where your panic attack would have nearly made your lung collapse again? Had the Suit not managed to calm you enough, you wouldn't have gotten through _that,_ like you hadn't been through enough already! Do you understand really just how _excruciating_ it was for us to watch you fight for your life where every second could have been your last?"

It took Neal a minute to let the additional information sink in.

He knew that he'd been shot by Keller and had been touch and go for several hours, perhaps even prolonging to several days. But hearing it being put so bluntly took him off guard. He had been so out of it with the pain, medication and thoughts that he hadn't stopped to think about the effect it must have had on others.

He knew how gut-wrenching it had been when Mozzie had been so close to dying six months ago. The thought alone made his blood go cold. As though on cue, Elizabeth's expression from last night crossed his mind, tired and eyes blemished with dark circles. He sighed.

"Moz, you know I'd never intentionally put you through something like this, especially knowing how it feels to watch your best friend die in front of your eyes." Mozzie caught on to what he was referring to and gave him a small smile.

"I guess we're even now, mon frère. Even and free," he added with a roguish grin reclaiming his face. Neal felt confused but was saved the trouble of asking his question when Mozzie continued. "I overheard the Suit a few days back saying that Keller had confessed to stealing the U-Boat treasure just to look good in the eyes of the Russians, which impossibly worked. The Russian Government is now paying all his legal fees. Also, there's no trace of either of us being involved with the entire fiasco so we're FBI accomplices who helped bring down Keller. We're free of all charges."

It took Neal a minute to believe it.

There was luck and then there were circumstances falling into his favour every single time. Well, _almost_ every single time.

"I guess the treasure is now in possession of the FBI custody."

"Well, _your_ treasure is definitely," corrected Mozzie, smiling into his wine. Neal couldn't help but laugh before his chest reminded him that it was still too early to test his capacities.

Mozzie set his wine down and quickly adjusted the angle of his bed to release stress off his airway. Neal nodded in gratitude before they slipped into a comfortable silence with Mozzie helping him drink some water and readjust his blankets.

"Thank you for coming back," he muttered after some time, eyeing the light colour that flushed the bald man's cheeks.

"No need for thank yous. Mrs. Suit mentioned how you don't remember anything from that entire day so I'll just repeat myself. The time away gave me a newfound perspective about treasures and friendships."

"And now the two are interconnected terms?"

"Something like that. Neal, we are conmen. This is what we do. The only people we can trust is ourselves in spite of partnering up with other thieves from time to time for our own benefit. We thrive on bettering our A-game and stepping up to increased difficulties of challenges while watching our own backs in all kinds of situations. And yet you've always had my back, no matter what. You've put a lot on the line for me all these years, even now by not ratting me out to the Suit until the situation demanded it be done. This is the least I could do for a brother in need."

"I feel the same," smiled Neal in response, enjoying his semblance of normal return. He shut his eyes in respite for a moment.

"I most certainly see now why you don't want to leave this life you've made for yourself here. I worked with the _Suits_ and spent nearly three whole days with almost everyone an integral part of your new life. It's everything you've ever wanted," concluded Mozzie, his voice still reserved. Neal sensed a continuation, opening his eyes again out of curiosity.

"And?"

"And I always believed that you were fooling yourself. Not so much anymore. For the first time I genuinely do believe that there is the slightest chance for you to get the happily-ever after you've always dreamt of. Maybe not the original ending you wanted but this one might just be good enough."

* * *

 **Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**A Minute**

* * *

 **A/N: Hey there everyone! :D Firstly, a big, big thank you to all the readers out there for the amazing views, reviews and favourite/follows, it's been encouraging to say the least! :D When I started with this fic, I had an idea about how I wanted to go about with it but I had no clue I would enjoy myself this much when writing it.**

 **Thank you for all the support so far, guys! It really means a lot. :)**

 **Not keeping y'all for long,**

 **Happy Reading! :D :D**

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Wafts of strawberry-essence shampoo tangled with the essence of his sterile environment, the scent only too familiar as it drew him out of his rapidly waning sleep. Lazily opening his eyes, he found Sara sit on the chair beside him with a Sterling Bosch file in hand, completely absorbed in its details. Neal tried to catch her attention by clearing his throat, but all that escaped was the broken sound of rattling stones in a vessel.

 _That_ definitely caught her attention.

"Ah, sleeping beauty is up," she chuckled, instantly bringing forth a glass of water that he lapped on only too greedily, ensuring that his greed didn't interfere with hurting anything more inside him. Once she set aside the glass, Neal managed to raise his head independently for the first time, instantly feeling a lot better than the stagnant posture he was too tired to shift from.

"Sara. You look particularly breath-taking today," complimented Neal, wondering just how much of it was a pick-up line when he looked at how luminous she came off in the mundane hospital glow. She gave him a trademark grin.

"I can't say the same about you though, pretty boy," she replied, letting her head sway in the direction of his half-lying form with shrugged shoulders. Neal blushed.

"How are you feeling?" she asked when conversation stilled, replacing the Sterling Bosch file upon her lap now that her attention was fully taken elsewhere. And even though Neal was growing tired of what he believed to be an extremely ridiculous question, he gave her an answer nonetheless.

"As good as one could expect to be in a situation like this, I guess. Atleast I'm alive," he added cheekily and Sara laughed.

"I see you've regained the powers of that silver tongue." Neal held her gaze, the room suddenly dissolving until all that remained was them. He certainly missed those fireworks between them. Sara stroked his hair softly before breaking their eye lock.

"I've missed you, Neal."

"I've missed you too. Elizabeth told me that you've been a regular visitor."

"I have, yeah. Since she informed me about what had happened," explained Sara a little unnecessarily as she toyed with her fingers. Neal gently pulled apart her hands before holding one in his own.

"I guess you were right. I dreamt a lot bigger than I could handle."

"Daydreaming isn't bad, Caffrey. It's only when you can't ground yourself to reality when the problem arises," replied Sara, her eyes meeting his own once again. He noticed that like Elizabeth, even she hadn't been sleeping too well. It was the first time he was seeing her since their confrontation at his apartment and if truth be told, he didn't know what to expect between them even now.

"I had the opportunity to escape with Mozzie," he confessed at length, feeling a little burden lift off his shoulders. A knowing smile was what he got in return.

"But you didn't. Why?" she asked, now genuinely curious. Either no one had a good answer to give her or else she hadn't bought whatever Mozzie must have revealed to her. Either way, he could see the eagerness twinkle in her eyes, too alike hope.

" _You_ , amongst other reasons," answered Neal, now gently rubbing his thumb over the back of her palm. She looked taken aback. He continued. "Sara, in all my life, I've always been surrounded by people who loved me for the man they could mould me into becoming. Especially Kate, even though for the longest time I refused to see the truth because I was that madly in love with her. It's only after I created this life that I've found people who are ready to love me beyond the conman the world knows me as. It's a challenge to love me and trust me, I know," he added and Sara grinned mischievously.

"Are you saying that you love me, Caffrey?"

"You tell me," he replied, instantly catching on to her deflected gaze. It took her a minute to compose herself before she tossed her head back and gave him a nervous smile.

"You certainly are a challenge, I'll give you that."

Neal chuckled, his chest instantly letting lose its stiffened ache. Cursing mentally at this new ailment of pain-driven laughter, he took a minute to let the pain subside before speaking again.

"And perhaps that isn't going to change anytime soon. But you, like Peter and Elizabeth, like me for who I really am rather than what I can become. You not only walked away when I showed you the treasure when you could have very easily been a part of it, but also didn't sell me out to Peter. That showed me more than anything else that have something genuine we can actually make work. And not in a daydream."

It took him a minute to realize just how _unlike_ himself he sounded even though he'd meant every word of what he'd just spoken.

Sara seemed to be of the same opinion as she planted a soft kiss on his stubbled cheek.

"I like this new Neal Caffrey."

"Perhaps dying was all I needed to do to figure stuff out," threw in Neal a little too casually and saw the stricken look cross her face in an instant. He regretted it instantly, remembering Mozzie's outburst from the previous time and let that regret flash across his face along with the growing pain in his chest.

"And you're sure about this? About us?" asked Sara, his voice a little unsteady but gaining back as much composure she could in the few lost seconds.

Neal nodded.

"Sara, I would completely understand if you didn't want to have anything to do with me after all of this. It's not like I've given you a 101 reasons for being _best boyfriend_ to begin with. Whatever you decide, I'll accept," he added sincerely, his hand now travelling upon the bandage on his head that he realized suddenly had become thinner. It definitely took away the partial heaviness he'd experienced the last two times he'd woken up.

Sara gave it a moment before she chose to reply, Neal instantly catching to her cautiously phrased monologue. _Good_ , he mentally sighed in relief, _atleast his thoughts and deductions rolled faster now. He wasn't going to be daft for life._

"Neal, I don't expect you to turn into an upstanding, moral citizen. You live in the clouds and I live on West 69th," Neal smiled at the familiarity of the sentence. Sara continued.

"It's the little conman in you that gives you that touch of extraordinary, the thrill and rush that I've experienced a little too much ever since I've been a part of your life. It's who you are. And I understand that we all have grey areas that define who we really are. I don't expect you to be upfront about everything or change yourself into someone you are not. But there's a line that we shouldn't cross, a line from which we can never come back and as long as I'm assured that you can see that line clearly and not tread upon it, I think we can work just fine."

Neal smiled softly.

"The lines are often a blur, I'll admit that much," he confessed cheekily and to this Sara shook her head.

"Nobody can change overnight, Caffrey. But the fact that we're having this conversation into the late hours of the night is proof enough that you've changed enough," she admitted, not giving him enough time to process what she'd spoken before planting a soft kiss upon his lips. Neal felt slightly out of breath but he didn't mind it this time even though his chest did.

"What time is it?" he asked once they'd separated, unable to hide the gasp of pain that threatened to spoil his happy hour of consciousness. Sara stood up gracefully and buzzed the station with a playful grin on her lips.

"It's time to call a nurse."

-x-

Recovery was more of a bitch than Neal had originally anticipated.

Five days had passed since he fully regained consciousness and even though his on-case had doctor expressed her delight at his quick recovery, his body refused to feel the same. The doctor had made it clear that the blood loss had definitely taken a toll on his body and regaining complete strength would take longer than in usual cases but his wounds were healing rapidly, the 4 stitches on the back of his head taken off the previous day along with the bandages.

The doctor had reduced his pain medications alongside, letting him remain awake for longer hours now as he awakened to a new face each time (that he now suspected was on doctor's orders). June, Jones and Diana made their visit on the following day after Sara, the older lady having stayed back for the night while Jones and Diana managed to visit him during lunch break. Contrary to his initial apprehension, the two agents were as friendly with him as always, perhaps a little more so than usual but nothing that was faked.

The only surprise that came was Diana laughing on his jokes, taking both himself and Jones by surprise before she threatened to smack their mouths shut, instantly returning the atmosphere of snickering looks back to normal.

Neal had been scheduled his first respiratory therapy this afternoon to strengthen his lungs even though he didn't like the sound of it. Laughing alone was a task and he couldn't keep up with a continuous flow of conversation for more than 40 minutes at a time. And the more he stayed awake for, the more antsy he got. The nurses who were only too used to a still-Neal Caffrey until a week ago had their hands full suddenly by the overly enthusiastic conman, taken off their feet by his charm even though they were aware about a certain strawberry blonde having his entire attention otherwise.

He was by no measure at even 50% of his actual capacity but the nurses found even that much a lot to take. And so they were only too happy to let visitors in, even Mozzie who'd finally deemed him fit enough to device schemes about how best to make a run from the hospital, caught in the act by Elizabeth just as Neal was about to take off the oximeter. Mozzie was banned to visit him that entire day.

Neal bore Elizabeth's silent mother-hen treatment the entire morning only for her to have gone back to normal in the afternoon once his first solid meal of mashed food was served, forcing him to finish it all or not have Mozzie return to the hospital at all, in disguise or otherwise. By the evening he spoke to his case doctor about wanting to go, only to get another reprimanding lecture from the doctor this time in her mid-40s.

While the doctor was happy with his overall progress and steadily healing wounds, she was still apprehensive to commit to giving him an early release owing to his still sensitive wounds prone to infection. And that fact that he was restless was what she worried posed the biggest threats to him opening his wounds or negatively impacting the steady progress of his healing lung.

He scowled all through evaluation and dinner, secretly enjoying Elizabeth and June fuss him into having more mashed food even though he didn't let on. Sara and Mozzie would pop in during their free time and smuggle books and art material that the doctor gave him permission to pursue as long as he didn't strain himself too much. Jones brought him his first case file this morning on a small heist that had happened at the Met, perking Neal's spirits up considerably.

Life felt easier for once in spite of his several health complications but he was getting used to it. Adapting to situations had been his biggest plus point. He wasn't going to let a bullet and a concussion hinder him now. Or the tracking anklet that the Marshalls had slapped back on his leg early this morning when Jones had come to visit him. 20 days had been a record for the US Marshalls' Office patience and Neal was appreciative of the same even though none of the others were.

And yet the bubble of his warm, opioid-induced happiness hadn't been able to obliviate the obvious fact from catching his attention.

Peter was the only one who hadn't visited him so far. Not even when the anklet had been put back.

And every time that crossed his mind, the ache in his chest only increased.

-x-

"Honey, you've got to meet him."

Peter looked up from his file and stared at his wife giving him an X-Ray look. This was the first dinner he and Elizabeth were having together at home since the night before she was kidnapped by Keller. Sara had volunteered to stay behind for the night, having smuggled in a dinner date basket for the young conman who seemed completed drained and in a pain-induced temper after his first therapy session. She figured that a little romance was all he needed to cheer up and ensured that nobody trespassed over their date, _including_ Mozzie.

She and Peter sat the dining table with Satchmo at her feet, both of them helping themselves to take-out Chinese as Peter worked on a mortgage fraud case alongside.

"I will," he sighed, looking slightly disgruntled. "It's just that I have a lot of pending cases to catch up with that I've missed in those ten days."

"If the case pressure is building that much, you can always take your files to the hospital and work on them," suggested Elizabeth, clearing not buying whatever Peter was trying to feed her. He took a swig off his beer bottle, letting the fingers of his free hand run through his hair.

"Hon, it's not that easy."

"Are we going to keep dancing like this or are you going to tell me why you've been avoiding seeing him ever since he regained consciousness?" asked Elizabeth, her voice now seriously. Peter fidgeted underneath her gaze but knew that if he could share the truth with anyone, it was her, no matter how ridiculous it may sound.

"He nearly had an attack when he woke up to my sight."

It didn't take Elizabeth much to put two and two together.

"The doctor said that he had the attack because he was disorientated by his surroundings and given the ordeal he's been through, it was natural for him to panic," corrected Elizabeth in her trademark reprimanding tone. But Peter was beyond that tonight. It was as though he'd finally run out of gas after the adrenaline of keeping Neal alive wore off. He couldn't remember the last time he'd caught a good night's sleep ever since Keller had taken his wife.

"I can't anymore... it's too much," added Peter, shutting close the file in front of him. He wanted to crash to bed and have one peaceful night with nothing more than the knowledge that Neal was alive, his wife was safe and that Keller was in prison for now.

He was tired of the same nightmare over and over again.

"Honey, you didn't give up on him in all those days at the hospital. Why now when he's awake and healing well?" asked El, taking his hand into her own. Peter felt a shudder run through him at the thought of Neal gagging over the tube down his throat. He shook his head to rid himself of the image.

" _Because_ he's alive and healing well. I've disappointed him as a friend, El. He's never going to take me back again." A look passed through his wife's face that nearly resembled looking amused but he brushed it aside. His mind had been playing too many tricks with him off late.

"You didn't shoot him, Keller did-"

"-while I was daydreaming in the car on moral debates," cut Peter, the sour truth making his wounds of guilt burn more. Neither was he happy about the situation nor was he about what his lack of prompt action costed Neal. "Had I gotten to him a minute sooner, none of this would have happened."

"You can't be so harsh on yourself, Peter."

"It's my job to protect him. He's my responsibility."

"He's not a child anymore, hon. He's fully aware about the consequences his actions and decisions have," reasoned El, but Peter shook his head. Neal had the spirit of a 5-year old in the body of a 35-year old. And the stories that'd floated back home from the hospital in the last five days had only been proof.

"Doesn't sound like it from what you described about his escape attempt from yesterday."

The thought about Neal sulking and pouting through evaluation and dinner after being denied an early release and given a combined lecture by Elizabeth for his escape attempt and the doctor for what was deemed an "eccentric question" after just days of resurfacing from a near-fatal injury was funny enough for Peter to laugh in spite of himself. El joined him soon enough.

"It would have been hilarious had his pneumothorax not been in the picture," added El, finally sobering down. The couple sighed at the thought of the blue-eyed man-child that had become such an integral part of their family without their knowledge. "Peter, he really misses you."

"Why? He has all of you visiting him. He even has a case to solve in his free time," he reasoned half-heartedly, knowing fully well that he missed the young man as much as he did. The hospital was twenty minutes away and yet his body stopped responding to movement every time he actually yearned to meet Neal. Which was every moment. There were a lot of things he needed to tell him. They needed to tell each other. To clear with each other.

As though catching on to his thoughts, El expressed the same.

"We are not _you_ , Peter. And Neal doesn't like solving cases, he likes doing them with _you_. There's only so much you can put off meeting him before he gets the wrong idea."

"What wrong idea?" asked Peter, suddenly taken aback. If anything, Neal needed to know how guilty _he_ was for letting emotion cloud his judgment and put him in harm's way during the mission.

"Why don't you ask him that yourself?" urged El with a knowing smile on her face.

"I'll... I'll go in tomorrow if I get time," tried Peter to evade but one look at his wife was enough to know that she'd heard enough excuses on this.

"Do you want to go to a shrink?" she asked, her voice not unkind yet the conviction of doing her threat real did not go amiss.

"Honey-" began Peter helplessly but El stood up, clearly having the last word in.

"If you want to sort things out in your mind and with Neal, there's no way you can do it except by talking to him."

She walked towards the sink and disposed off the dirty dishes and the empty beer bottles, Peter left to stare at the file in front of his even though his mind was far away from mortgage frauds. He couldn't face Neal after all this. Somehow through the entire ordeal and Keller being sent to jail, Peter had stopped thinking about Neal's mistakes.

In comparison to what he had to go through, his mistakes seemed almost _naïve_.

And even though he knew that wasn't quite true when it came to the magnanimity of his crime, he knew that at the end of the day if given the choice between the law and his friend, he would choose his friend every single time. It's what he'd been doing ever since he'd taken Neal on as his CI and it's what he'd continue doing until the end.

His friend had changed a lot in this year and a half and he'd seen biggest living proof in the fact that he chose the life he had in New York against a life of highs and adrenaline kicks. He'd chosen Peter to guide him to the point where the line grew clear over Mozzie to take him back to the point where the lines were blur.

He was proud of the man Neal had become in his influence. And he knew that until he was treated as a criminal, no matter what the tracking anklet did otherwise, Neal would always believe he was a criminal. Peter didn't want his friend to believe that. And if he didn't go soon, he was afraid that Neal would actually end up believing something that wasn't true.

But he was scared. _So scared._

He didn't realize that he'd actually spoken the last two words out loud until El reclaimed her seat beside him and pulled him into a comforting hug, Peter wanting nothing more than to sink into his wife's arms and fall asleep in that moment.

"I know you are. But I think he is too. And that's why he needs his _friend_ to tell him that everything's going to be okay."

* * *

 **Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D**


	8. Chapter 8

**A Minute**

* * *

 **A/N: Hey there everyone! :D Here's the next chapter. :)**

 **Happy Reading! :D :D**

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Peter stood outside the door to Neal's room, hand suspended mid-air.

Because Neal was given FBI status, the hospital had benevolently given Neal a private room for recovery, the Marshalls agreeing to the agreement for the protection of the other patients in the building. And even though Peter had half an urge to punch the first Marshall he laid eyes upon for such a derogatory reasoning, he was secretly thankful that Neal had an uninterrupted recovery.

Peter had had some hospital visits of his own and he knew just how annoying being paired with random people could get. But then again he was never good with people and preferred healing in isolation. Neal was a social animal. No wonder he kept getting so restless, Peter realized. He was no television enthusiast to enjoy a game in his free time.

He sighed.

Daydreaming wasn't going to help him here. He had to enter the room and there was no two ways about it. He'd faced some extremely intimidating people and had survived that, including Elizabeth's father. This was Neal. There was no reason to chicken out that way. He was alive and he was healing. And El had promised him that Neal wasn't mad at him.

But he felt an undue anxiety latched to this pending conversation.

Swinging the door open, Peter peeked into the room not knowing what to expect. He felt both relief and disappointment when he saw Neal asleep. It was only eight in the morning after all. He must have been out on his medication, he figured.

He stood by the door for some time, wondering whether to cross the distance and sit beside the sleeping man for a while or to just head towards the Bureau and think about coming back another time. Perhaps he'd be better prepared to meet Neal and could rehearse his conversation better. Apology, to be more precise.

Yet he didn't want to leave.

He'd been through the worst with Neal in the first ten days of his condition. He deserved to be there when Neal was alive and healthy too. He should have been the first one to talk to him, thought Peter resentfully. Not the last one sneaking in like a coward. He should have been overseeing Neal's recovery rather than let others take that privilege... _responsibility_ away from him.

Neal was his responsibility.

Peter took a few hesitant steps until he reached the foot of Neal's bed. He sighed. Neal was in a deep sleep, his features relaxed. The colour had returned back to his face finally, the sun entering the room making it only too evident and it made for a very good change from the deathly pale pallor he'd grown accustomed to seeing on Neal.

He'd grown thinner though.

Peter sighed again.

He continued to stare at the sleeping man, feeling happy at the worry-free expression upon his face. There was an innocence on his face that made him look years younger than he was, perhaps bringing out the suppressed child in him he'd hidden since the age of 18. He wondered what kind of a childhood he must have had.

In all the stacks of intel Peter had collected upon Neal during his years as a conman, he'd never found any traces back to his childhood. It was as though Neal Caffrey didn't exist until the age of 18. No family, no friends. He knew nothing about his childhood or his parents. At least nothing apart from what Neal had told him during the case of the Burmese Ruby.

And that was all he'd known. His father had taken down a corrupt organization but must have also been part of the very same payroll. It didn't take two and two to figure that out if Neal called him a _dirty cop_. His father must have cut himself a deal. He'd tried pulling out his father's file after the case ended but the Marshalls could only do so much without a name.

It was that day when he realized for the first time how he didn't know everything about the young conman like he originally prided himself on doing. Sure, he still stuck to the belief that nobody knew Neal Caffrey better than him, but in the light of recent events he wondered how much of that was true. He still couldn't believe somewhere deep down that in a matter of months he'd made such an impact on Neal that the latter had chosen a shackled life over a shitload of money.

He definitely didn't know Neal Caffrey enough then.

Peter took another step closer, finally letting himself fall upon the chair. His eyes fell over the hand lying to Neal's right, noticing the faint scars on his knuckles, sporting similar ones on his hand as well. The oximeter connected to him registered a steady rhythm, the monotonous beeping a significant relief. He remembered nights where the beeps were either too fast or too slow.

Peter sighed.

He wondered when was the last time Neal had genuinely felt safe. There was only one person apart from Neal who knew his entire life story but Peter knew Mozzie well enough. He would never break the code. Peter remembered the night when Neal had shared about his life from the moment he stepped into New York. He'd just been 21 then. Mozzie had made his association within a month yet it had been three years by the time Neal had finally joined Adler's company. That job too had become Neal's life, the life he chose over the con.

He definitely didn't reap the best fruits there.

Once Neal was on his own and had finally crossed his radar for the second time after the incident with the green sucker, Peter knew it was time for payback. Being fooled by the boyish charms of Neal Caffrey had not just been insulting to him as an agent, it was downright humiliating. Reese had been an understanding senior to let the incident slide past, but he couldn't. The green sucker would mock him daily.

But when Neal resurfaced in a brash attempt to catch attention (Kate's, he realized later), Peter knew that this was his calling. He was going to nab this hotshot conman who was beginning to get bigger and bolder as destinations changed. But secretly, he loved the thrill of the chase. It was no hidden fact that he liked smart, and God was Neal smart. He was cheesy and cliché too but always with a twist that had Peter scratching his eyes out.

He was the perfect case.

And he never knew when his need for getting even turned into an obsession. Not just to catch Neal Caffrey, no. But to know who he really was beyond the veils of his crimes. There was a strange liking he'd taken to the reckless boy even back then, a liking that only pushed him to learn every possible thing he could about him. And even though he would never admit this in a million years, but he had come to respect the conman for his certain ethics when dealing with a con. It was always a _neat_ play.

 _Catch me if you can._

And he chased the young man for 4 years before finally catching him and putting him behind bars for a 4-year sentence. How? By simply using his biggest weakness. The same weakness that cost him another 4-year sentence. The same weakness that eventually led Neal to become his CI. The same weakness that gave Neal the closest semblance to a family he has now when he finally lost everything the day he lost her.

Peter found his fingers inches away from holding Neal's hand in a reassuring grip before he pulled them away hesitantly. He didn't want to stir Neal up even though his heart knew he was just afraid to face what was to come next. He was never good with apologies but that was not what held him back this time.

He wondered whether it would be _good enough_.

Peter let his head fall into his hands and sighed. Angry though he might have been about Neal keeping the knowledge of the treasure away from him, he knew deep down that the only reason that happened in the first place was because he'd blindly blamed him for stealing it without hearing his side of the story. He subjected him to a polygraph and kept him in sight like a criminal for something he hadn't committed in all technicality.

 _But he had the treasure nonetheless._

Peter found himself unable to get mad at him for it. Somewhere down the line, the reason why he got so good at reading Neal was because he was a lot similar to him when it came to rules. Sure, he wouldn't blatantly break them like Neal did and had a very fine line defined when it came to being way within the law, but Peter liked to make exceptions. He liked to find loopholes and work his way through them, just like Neal found loopholes in securities and agreements.

That didn't mean that he didn't follow the law; that only made him unconventionally brilliant. Just like his CI. And that's exactly why they were such a hit in the White Collar Division will a closing rate of 93%. They were always on the same page at the end in a case, one way or the other while they had each other's backs.

 _Almost_ every case.

Peter stood up suddenly, his thoughts making his grow tired. Eight-fifteen in the morning was hardly the time for demon-prowessed thoughts to drain his mind. Maybe coming to meet Neal was a bad idea. Perhaps the therapist on the 12th floor could give him something for a smoother night's sleep. He hated the idea of seeing a shrink but he was steadily losing his nerve. He walked towards the door.

"Peter..."

The sound of his name stopped him in his tracks. He turned around, Neal's set of brilliant blues looking back at him, the happiness in them unhampered as he quickly straightened himself on the bed and readjusted his angle. "You finally came," he added, gesturing Peter to reclaim his seat.

Peter swallowed, almost envying the surreal calm the young man had woken up with against the storminess of his own.

He'd never seen Neal this happy in quite some time.

-x-

Neal had never felt this terrified in quite some time.

He knew the generously required doses of opioids had spoilt his habits but he couldn't help it. Therapy the previous afternoon had been gruelling to say the least and by the time he'd been brought back to his room, Neal had lost all his drug-induced calm and peace from the previous days. And the moment he lost that, he felt himself bombed with the same recurring guilt and anxiety he associated to Peter every time his thoughts travelled there.

Sara bringing him a dinner date was the only thing that genuinely took his mind off his surly mood but even that was short-lived. The reduced medication had brought back his capacity to hide emotions and he certainly managed to keep Sara out of the loop about the lingering discomfort in his chest. The doctor had warned fairly in advance that his respiratory therapy was going to be demanding and he would require to be patient with the pain, but now that Neal had experienced the first session, he felt a lot more differently.

And slightly violently.

The doctor gave him a minimal dosage for the night, just enough to let him sleep comfortably. Neal wasn't the biggest fans of drugs to begin with, owing to his own first-hand knowledge of the fact that he and drugs did not mingle well. And these five days were proof in the way he'd dealt with everyone close to him. He did not remember the last time he'd been so helpless and had so readily accepted all the love and attention coming his way like a needy child. And had even thrown tantrums like one. But it made him happy and he went with the flow.

And that's exactly why he hated drugs. He secretly craved the induced happiness at the cost of expressing open vulnerability. But his pride of not showing his vulnerability had been kicked in its shins by his inability to tolerate the pain in the prolonged minutes of the drugs wearing off. The reducing dosages ensured he remained awake a lot more but somehow it had not hampered with his happy mood.

That was amongst the rare advantages of the drugs alongside dreamless nights.

For reasons unknown, the drugs eased him off into a dreamless sleep every night even though the doctor had told well in advance that most patients experience flashes from their locked memories or some other past trauma. It was the mind's way of processing everything that had happened. And yet Neal had had none so far. The doctor didn't seem particularly concerned though, calling him a one in a million case just like his survival against the odds to begin with.

Well that he was - _one in a million._

And that was about it. His happy bubble had burst with therapy and in spite the fact that he had six people doting over him, he craved the attention of the one who wasn't. But it didn't make sense. The doctors and nurses kept talking about him all the time! About how he'd stayed in the ICU with Neal for five days straight, not moving until he'd positively stabilized and was assured to survive the ordeal. He'd be a frequent visitor in the next six days and had camped out the entire day leading up to him gaining consciousness.

And then he stopped visiting.

Why?

Neal didn't know who to believe. Everyone kept talking about Peter being his actual rock in those difficult moments and yet he was nowhere to be seen now that he was awake. None of this had registered to him in his happy bubble, buying the stories El told him about how he would be asleep when Peter would visit him. He was asleep for the most of the first three days so it seemed plausible. The next two had gone to absorbing everything that had happened, letting people gush and coo over him while hoping Peter would walk through the doors any minute.

But now that his opioid-induced stupor was cut short and his head was beginning to lose its concussed side-effects, Neal was beginning to worry. Did his awakening bring back everything in Peter's mind about the treasure? Did the resentment come back again? El told him when he'd first woken up that his worries were baseless. But they seemed to be less and less so with the passing days.

He fell asleep somewhere late in the night with frantic thoughts for the first time since he regained consciousness.

For a surprise, he slept through another dreamless night. Until floating through his calm cut another familiar scent. The scent was enough motive for him to abandon his sleep, mind now eager to know whether what it was deduced was true. His chest definitely wasn't in the best of moods and didn't like the idea of waking up against the rest it was greedily accepting but the scent overturned everything else.

He opened his eyes to the sight of what his sore eyes had wanted all along.

But Peter seemed unaware about the fact that he'd woken up, his head still in between his hands. Neal continued to observe him, instantly noticing his distress. Peter looked like he's aged twenty years, to say the least. There were more lines of worry upon his face than he could last remember and his lips were pulled into a taut line. Neal recognized that a sign of internal conflict.

And yet in spite of everything, Neal couldn't help but let a genuine smile creep up his face, surprised that ingenuity was possible without drugs pushing him towards it. He was _happy_ to see Peter here finally. The machine caught his heart doing a few flips and somersaults but Peter was clearly lost in another world to notice.

Then suddenly, Peter stood up with his back to him. There was a hesitance for a few second before the older man walked towards the door, the name leaving Neal's lips even before he was aware.

"Peter..."

His name stopped him in his tracks and he looked back in an instant, eyes seeking his own greedily.

This time Neal couldn't stop himself from smiling, holding Peter's gaze steadily as the older agent let out a shaky breath. He continued to stare at Neal, a small smile making its way up his lips before it died away, leaving behind a storm brewing in his eyes. This was it. This was where he found out know where the two of them stood. Thankful for the returning sharpness of his senses, Neal let his smile linger on, quietly putting up the veil of his façade as the genuineness from his smile withdrew into a trade-mark Caffrey grin.

But Peter looked too distressed to notice.

"You finally came," added Neal as an afterthought, pointing towards the seat that the older man had just vacated. Peter swallowed but took him up on his offer nonetheless.

The machine continued to beep steadily. Neal let loose another genuine smile in spite of himself. Neal Caffrey was finally beginning to resurface from the bouts of a knocked-up head. The machine beeped steadily and he noticed Peter draw conclusions from that, his face now a little more relaxed. Peter looked nowhere near calm or confident but he definitely seemed to be drawing strength from Neal's composure.

A composure that was a castle of cards.

Because he'd never been more terrified in all his life.

* * *

 **Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D**


	9. Chapter 9

**A Minute**

* * *

 **A/N: Hey there everyone! :D Thank you guys for being so awesome! Your views and reviews make my day! :) I hope this chapter lives up to the kind of conversation everyone was hoping for. :D**

 **Not keeping y'all for long,**

 **Happy Reading! :D :D**

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Peter and Neal continued to look at each other, neither of them knowing how to begin the conversation.

 _God, they were both so bad at this._

"Nice to see you fully awake. How do you feel?" broke Peter the awkward silence in the room finally with, slightly apologetic for what he knew was an over-asked question.

Neal mentally hissed at the irony. The first question and he'd have to lie through it. Truth be asked, he felt like crap. His chest hurt and his head buzzed with thoughts he didn't quite like to entertain. So the only obvious answer he had was-

"Excellent. You?"

Peter groaned internally. Wasn't it bad enough that he was barely catching any sleep and was avoiding the shrink that he'd actually ended up with Neal behaving like one? There was only one clear answer to this.

"Great. Just great."

Neal smiled.

"You look like you've aged twenty years since I last saw you," he observed, interested in what Peter would reply to his statement. Peter gave him a look.

"Well don't blame me for being in a coma for 20 years." Neal felt his mind go into over-drive for a moment before he realized that Peter was just exaggerating. His mind definitely needed more time to regain its clarity.

"Wait, what? I thought I've been here just 20 days."

"Felt like 20 years alright," mumbled Peter underneath his breath irritably before he realized that he'd spoken it out loud. He and Neal both let a smile betray its way upon their lips before Neal addressed the question of the hour.

"What took you so long?"

Peter fidgeted with his fingers before looking replying, casually avoiding Neal's gaze.

"Uh, well, ever since you have been struggling to stay alive, I've missed out on a lot of cases. And now that _Sleeping Beauty_ is awake," Peter added while pointing his hand at Neal, "I need to get back to them." Neal rolled his eyes. "It's been really tight at the Bureau and I'm sorry I couldn't make it sooner. The first few times I visited you were asleep though, quite out on the medication."

Peter looked up and gave him a nonchalant shrug, knowing just how thin his explanation was even though the apology was genuine. Apparently Neal believed so too.

"Really? You're going to stick to that?" he asked, not bothering to hide the slight accusation in his voice. He no longer needed to control his façade, he'd naturally slipped into conversation and suddenly needed more answers than he had questions. And for some reason, Peter seemed totally out of his usual A-game.

"Why, is there something else I should be sticking to?" asked the agent promptly, his tone suggestive.

Uh oh.

Neal let a minute pass, knowing full well that he'd steered the conversation to exactly what he didn't talk about. He definitely seemed off his own A-game after the first five minutes. So much for being a conman, he wondered.

And yet he knew he _had_ to know.

It took him a minute to muster courage to know where his fate lay.

"Peter, if there's one thing about our _partnership,_ " he purposely ignored using the word friendship, he was still uncertain to hope. "-that I absolutely adore, it's the fact that you have always been outright truthful to me, even when I don't want to hear it. You can just tell me already."

"Tell you what?" asked Peter, now confused. Neal felt a little annoyed. Peter was not one to play the dumb game. And yet spelling it out only hurt him more. He took a deep breath before letting it all loose.

"Isn't it obvious why you aren't visiting me? You obviously hate me more than anything else at the moment for whatever happened with Keller. And I don't blame you. And even though Mozzie told me that there are officially no charges against either one of us, I would be fully comprehending if you want to revoke our deal and send me back to prison. Don't do the crime if you can't do the time," he added in an attempt to lighten the blow but it fell way off its mark.

All Peter could do was stare at him, astounded. How could Neal even believe that he didn't want to be friends with him anymore after everything they'd been through, pounded the thought with outrage.

Maybe that's what El meant when she said that he might get the wrong idea.

"You know, for someone so smart, you can be really stupid at times," replied Peter finally with a small smile on his face, the answer making Neal's jaw drop in surprise. He was clearly not expecting this and it was evident.

"Oh great, now we're throwing insults in too. Really classic, Peter," retorted Neal in an attempt to hide his fear behind a veil of sarcasm but his eyes gave it away. Well that and the heart monitor.

Peter smiled. Maybe all hope wasn't lost yet.

"You really want to know why I haven't been along ever since you've woken up?" he sighed, realizing that it was about time he gave Neal the answers he was looking for. He owed him that much atleast.

"Beats me if it's not what I said," grumbled Neal underneath his breath, now looking torn between curious and apprehensive. He shifted slightly in his bed before Peter continued.

"You know what happened when you woke up the first time?" Neal tried to recollect but his memory was blank, still a little confused with his timeline of regaining consciousness given his epic shuttles in and out of them. So he shook his head. As though egged on, Peter replied. "You woke up to my sight and had a panic attack."

So that was the panic attack incident Mozzie had mentioned.

But why would that mean Peter not coming back?

Unless he thought _he_ was the reason.

 _Oh._

"Do you have any idea how it feels to have seen someone you care so much about be on a dying spree for nearly 10 days and then finally wake up, only to near die again at your sight?" continued Peter, looking steadily agitated while Neal remained still, just trying to absorb the fact. This certainly wasn't the first time he was hearing this particular lecture but hearing it from Peter made all the difference in the world. It meant-

" _You care_." It was meant to be a statement and yet there was hesitance to believe.

"Ofcourse I care!" asserted Peter, looking almost angry now at Neal for believing otherwise. Neal didn't know why but he suddenly felt like he was slipping back into his opioid-heightened senses of emotional flow, the block in his chest easing up significantly. His mind no longer cared to act smart. He was just happy that after all this time, somebody finally cared about him.

 _Peter_ cared about him.

"I- I didn't-" began Neal, flustered at being caught so off-guard in a vulnerable moment. For one minute Neal found the urge to slip back on some kind of mask, anything that protected his heart from Peter's scrutiny but he decided against it. He was no longer Danny Brooks running away from a life of lies and trying to figure out who he really was while trusting no one to ever hurt him again the way the _truth about his father_ had.

But he trusted the man before him _fully_.

And Peter had kept his trust.

"-ofcourse you didn't!" he caught Peter rant midway.

"The reason why I couldn't bear to face you was because of what had happened. It's all my fault," Peter added, noticing Neal drift out of the conversation before his mind got back into it, this time with a sheepish smile upon his face.

Seeing him smile made Peter's conscience ease, so did letting out this confession.

But now Neal looked confused.

"Unless you were trying to pull off a Mission Impossible movie by donning Keller's face mask to steal the treasure and shoot me, it's not your fault," replied Neal with an incredulous look upon his face. Peter knew he was being let off too easy. Neal being mad at him would have any day made more sense than him smiling in such genuine understanding. It was not fair.

"Neal..."

"Peter, I mean it," cut Neal, holding his hand up to stop whatever Peter was about to say against himself. "I was the one who had the treasure and went behind your back. If anyone has to be apologizing, it's me."

"You would have come clean if I hadn't accused you of stealing it in the first place," countered Peter, disbelieving that he'd admitted this openly. Neal seemed to mull it over.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I played my hand too long and it cost you so much," he confessed, still not sounding entirely convinced of the fact that he should have been let gone that easy by Peter.

"It nearly did, yes," agreed Peter, the sickening image of a lifeless Neal strapped to the EMS gurney making a comeback before he shut his eyes against it. He felt a pair of warm fingers ground him to reality.

When he opened his eyes back, he noticed that Neal had gently held them in his own, quickly prying them away once he realized that Peter was back with him. The two of them were definitely not used to showing emotions, there was no denying it.

"Elizabeth-" began Neal, assuming the obvious but Peter shook his head. He had to get it out of his system or else it'd drive him insane. He'd had _plenty_ of insane for the entire month to last him his lifetime.

"I wasn't talking about her. I was talking about you," explained Peter, Neal now looking surprised. He didn't wait for a response. "I spent a minute too long in the car thinking about you. About whether or not I could ever forgive you for what you'd done. Keller shot you in that exact moment."

"I don't see-" began Neal, clearly not at the top of his reasoning for whatever reason, making it even more difficult for Peter to confess what he was about to next.

"Damn it, Neal, it is my responsibility to protect you! You may be my CI and a ward of the state to the FBI but you're under my watch! I had no business daydreaming about morals and ethics when your life was on the line! I should have gotten there sooner rather than cook up reasons to not forgive you!"

Neal gasped. Peter saw the sting he felt.

This was exactly what Neal had been fearing and he heard it being said out loud finally. This was exactly why he knew he'd lost Peter's friendship. Because his friend had come in a minute too late to save him. And even though from the look of it Peter had forgiven him, he had also drawn the boundary lines clear for the two of them. CI and ward of the state. Peter's responsibility.

Neal smiled sadly.

"Peter, I'm sorry for putting you in that position. As your CI, I know I was way out of line-"

" _What_? You think I'm blowing my brains out because you're my _CI_? You may be a constant pain in my ass but you are my partner, Neal. _My friend_. How hard is it for you to understand that?"

Neal found it definitely hard to understand. Not the fact that Peter saw him as a friend too, but the fact that he _confessed_ to it. Peter Burke was not an man of emotional outpour, to say the least. He must have been in a lot of stress in these last few days, Neal figured, and probably still a little traumatised too with whatever had happened. God knows he'd been through the same hell with Kate and being carted off to prison within that same hour of losing her.

Repressed trauma was definitely as much of a favourite to him as Keller was. But it didn't matter anymore. For now, it looked like Peter was not just distressed but also definitely sleep deprived judging by the haunted look in his eyes. And as a _friend_ , it was his responsibility to get him out of it.

"Wow... When was the last time you slept, Peter?"

"Huh?" Peter asked, thoroughly taken aback. This was not what he was expecting to hear after pouring his heart out this way. Just when he began to feel intensely stupid about talking about his _feelings_ , Neal turned serious.

"Peter, I've been fully conscious for six days now. There hasn't been a single hospital personnel who believes otherwise that the only reason I'm alive is because of you. Not just because you brought me in on time but because you stayed back with me for the first 11 days, talking day in and day out and doing everything it took to keep me alive. So if you believe that it's your fault that I nearly died, then you're the reason I'm alive too. The doctors could have only done so much with the injuries I now know I was brought in sustaining."

"If I hadn't been delayed, it wouldn't have come to the point of keeping you alive," muttered Peter, behaving like a defiant child. It was as though Peter was voluntarily punishing himself with his own little idea of _justice_. Neal rolled his eyes.

"And if I hadn't kept the treasure, El would have never been taken."

Silence.

"Does that make us even then?" asked Peter after some time, conceding with a small smile. It was rare when Peter Burke couldn't one-up Neal Caffrey and this was amongst those moments. And yet it seemed like it was Neal's turn of vigilante justice judging by the dark look on his face.

"Not even close. I crossed a line, Peter. That line was your _trust_ ," he added, his features now tousled in regret. Peter knew how much his treat meant to Neal ever since the little drugging incident at the Howser clinic. It was no wonder why Neal had drawn his own conclusions so fast.

It was no hidden fact that between them, trust was like a glass house.

But Peter had left that resentment far behind at the docks.

"Neal-" he began, but the younger man beat him to it.

"-I know, Peter. You're an agent and I'm a conman. It's always going to be trust and verify between us. But you've always had my back and it's why I've always trusted you. Even now, there's nobody I would trust more with my life."

Peter felt a burst of warmth in his heart at Neal's confession. After everything he'd berated himself into, it felt good to hear that Neal saw it the other way around and forgave him for his lapse of attention.

It was time for another confession that would never make its way into daylight had it not been the need of the hour.

"Neal, I want you to remember something carefully. I know I may not say it much because I just don't want to inflate your already overinflated ego, but don't think I don't know how hard your job is. You may live in the clouds but you don't live a cushioned life at the White Collar division. The cases are tough to say the least and require you to go undercover more often than not. Don't think I don't know the risks you put yourself into daily not just because its your ticket out of prison. You watch out for everyone's backs, including mine."

This time, Neal was the one who looked touched. Peter could have sworn that his eyes had smartened for a moment before he sighed, the heart monitor catch a blip of what Peter supposed was the anxiety of the next question coming.

"Do you trust _me_?"

If Peter were honest, it was a question he'd nearly thought about everyday since the day Neal had officially become his CI. The year and a half they'd worked together had been a rollercoaster ride of incidents and Peter still didn't know where he exactly stood when it came to trusting him. Neal was a person who trusted no one except his instincts of survival and that alone was enough reason to not trust him.

 _But Neal trusted him with his life._

Why was it always so _complicated_ with them?

Feeling Neal's gaze scrutinize him closely, Peter sighed. He was going to let instinct take over the conversation.

"Mostly, yes," Neal looked both surprised and a little disappointed. Peter smiled. "Not with my silver, definitely. But with my life, yes. Neal, there are always going to be times when I don't trust you, just like the way you don't, but that doesn't mean there isn't faith. Faith, that whatever you're doing is for a good reason. You may not always be the most "legally sound" person in the room when it comes to solving a case but I know you have what it takes to get it done. I'm always willing to look away at a bit of creative tweaking and licensing as long as you solve cases within the lines. Nobody can always go by the book, I get that."

"But?" asked Neal, sensing the word heavily hanging in the air. Peter realized that he now had the younger man's rapt attention. He coughed awkwardly.

"But off late, I'd forgotten that. I had forgotten that just because you wear that _damned_ smile on your face to work every day, it doesn't reduce the fact any lesser that you've been through plenty yourself in this last year and a half. Or rather for the last five and a half years, if I might," Neal begged to differ but remained silent as Peter continued. "You orchestrated this entire deal with the FBI to find Kate and I don't think you've let any of us come close to just how much you've hurt after her death, pulling on as though nothing had happened while you sought out whoever did this to her."

Neal looked at Peter closely. He'd actually meant it. After all this time, he'd noticed then. Someone had finally managed to look beneath his smile. It was not like nobody had seen through his smile before. Mozzie certainly did. Yet the fact that Peter had noticed it and not bought his con of explanations made him feel... _humbled_.

"You discussed it with Mozzie?" he asked, and instantly saw a momentary surprise flicker upon Peter's face before he nodded. Not that surprising after all.

Peter, on the other hand, realized it was time to say what he'd put off for long enough.

"Neal, I'm sorry."

It was just that. _Four words_. But it held a depth of emotion and a breath of meaning that was out in the open for Neal to see right from Peter's hung shoulders to the haunted look in his eyes.

Hearing them brought Neal on the brim of something he hadn't reached upon since he was put under house arrest after his attack on Fowler. He could feel his eyes beginning to sting, a sudden humility to his grounded world ensnaring his mind at the thought of how he'd finally gotten what he'd run away from for the longest time. Someone who he cared about beyond reason.

"Peter, you don't have to apologize. I don't deserve it. Any of it. I should be the one saying sorry," he added, wondering just how many things he needed to apologize for ever since he'd become a part of Peter Burke's life. Even before their deal.

Peter seemed to make his pick and stick with the most recent event.

"Certainly not your best moments, I agree. But I guess like always, everything worked out just fine," said Peter with a consoling smile on his face. Neal rubbed his temples absentmindedly. Somehow, he felt sleepy again after the heavy conversation. Maybe he was high on emotions. He needed to sleep it out before he blabbed something he'd thoroughly regret as a show of affection once he regained his faculties.

"Sometimes I feel like it's all just a comatose dream. All I need to do is wake up and find myself handcuffed to my bed, maybe. This is too good to be true."

Neal snapped his eyes open at the sound of his own voice. He couldn't believe he'd just said that. And from the look on Peter's face, even he couldn't. The older man looked slightly uncomfortable, both of them aware that conversation was now steering towards dangerously untreaded waters. Yet the more Neal spoke, the more he felt the need to express.

 _This was not good._

"Then start believing it's true," assured Peter after a few seconds, weighing every word with the same meaningful look in his eye that Elizabeth bore trademark of. Neal wanted to shut up and sleep. But his tongue and mind had no co-ordination whatsoever.

"I don't think I've ever been able to since I found out about my father. It just... does something to you, you know? Leaves behind scars that can never be erased. Not that he was ever around or I had a great family... _don't even think it was a real family_. Kate was the closest I'd come to feeling like I'd found a family until she... but then like you proved enough, she never really loved me to begin with. Are you really surprised I find it that hard to believe that I have a family even after everything that went wrong?"

A heavy silence hung upon both of them. Neal could suddenly find his mind returning to a foggy portion of his mind with the feeling of having lived it recently but he couldn't place it.

Why was he talking about his father, with Peter out of all people?

Maybe it was because Peter was the kind of man he once thought his father was and wanted to be like, came back the instinctive answer. Maybe that's why he trusted Peter so much. It was a subconscious association - one that explained why he always wanted to impress the older man and wanted him to like him. He'd finally gotten his wish at long last. This was a realization he was never going to admit to Peter in a hundred lifetimes.

The opioids were finally showing their side-effects, Neal realized in horror.

Peter, on the other hand was far from any side-effects yet the confession alone was mind-numbing. He couldn't believe that he was actually sharing about his childhood with him, the same Neal Caffrey who'd once been borderline resistant to telling him anything about it. And yet if he was telling him about it now, Peter knew that it was a moment of intense vulnerability, one that he was not comfortable to step upon. He was curious, undoubtedly, to know more about the _real_ Neal Caffrey but he knew better than to take advantage of the injured man living a different reverie of thoughts at the moment.

Peter sighed.

If he couldn't ensure, he could always assure. It was the least he could do for him.

"Neal, let me ask you something," began Peter, noticing the young man return to the land of the hospital room from his far-drifting thoughts with a sheepish smile. He continued. "When I told you during the _Black Widow_ case that I wanted to remarry El in an intimate ceremony with just the two of us, who was present in that moment apart from _us_?"

"Mozzie and I," came the instantaneous answer. Peter smiled.

"What does that say?"

"I-" began Neal, full aware about what Peter wanted to imply but couldn't resist the impulse of being cheeky. "Well, I want to say that I was lending you my apartment with the gorgeous décor and Mozzie was... well, _officiating_ ," he added, the thought of Peter considering Mozzie a part of his family a little too much to take in its hilarity.

"Nice try. You need to understand this - it's not conventional. I'm supposed to be your boss and keep you in line with sound judgment, not call you over to dinners, festive holidays and have emotional bonding sessions. But nothing about us is conventional to begin with. And that's why you're not my just my friend anymore, Neal. You're family now, for both El and I. Families have their disagreements and fallings but you sort it out and move on at the end of the day," he explained, Neal's expression of hesitance now moulding into one of incredulity.

He had an excuse for being so emotionally verbal.

What had gotten into Peter?

"Whatever happened to the guy who used to tell me to 'cowboy up'?"

"You're deflecting," retorted Peter, giving him a sharp look. Neal bit his cheek, trying to bring back some flavour of sarcasm in a heavy-loaded custard of emotions.

"I don't like the colour my shooting has brought out in you. You've gone soft. Who are you and what have you done with Peter Burke?" Peter laughed, his features finally looking a little less older than when he'd first entered the room.

After a while, he spoke again.

"Neal, when you and Sara broke up, I told you that I was here for you in all my capacity if you needed to talk to someone. And that you deserve some happiness too. I was not entirely correct. You deserve _all_ the happiness there is out there."

It took Neal a minute to gather his words.

"Thanks, Peter. That means a lot," he replied, feeling colour creep up his cheeks. But surely this was a comatose dream! How could Peter be so nice to him for thirty minutes straight?

Somewhere through getting lost in his thoughts, Peter's voice cut through once again. He looked at Peter apologetically and the latter sighed, repeating his question again. There was a look of genuine interest in his eyes now.

"When did you find out the truth about your father?" Neal thought he'd be a lot more resistant talking anymore about this topic but somehow, he didn't mind anymore. He could tell Peter atleast this much.

"On my 18th birthday. That's when I ran and never looked back. The thrill of the con and getting addicted to the rush of it is what kept me alive and thriving. And I never considered stopping. That is, until now," he added, suddenly unsure about whether or not he should have said that.

This time Peter did manage to looked utterly surprised. It was only very recently during the case of young Scott where Neal had told him about what the rush of a con meant to him and why running had always been so thrilling. He'd also told Peter the only time a conman actually considered to hang their boots.

"This your rock bottom?" asked Peter, not sure about what to expect as an answer.

Neal shook his head.

"No," he began, secretly vowing this to be his last vulnerable confession for atleast the next ten years even as it brought a smile upon his lips, Peter now looking intrigued. "This is the happiest I've been in a while."

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 **Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D**


	10. Chapter 10

**A Minute**

* * *

 **A/N: Hey there everyone! :D Here's the next chapter! :)**

 **Happy Reading! :D :D**

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

Neal finally walked out of the hospital after another week.

The doctor had given him an strict therapy schedule to follow and had finally deemed him well enough to escape the confines of the morbid place. After his conversation with Peter, the doctors had seen a better progress in his treatment, the therapy sessions finally becoming easier for Neal to settle into. By the third day he'd finally started walking around the hospital and had managed to catch onto everything he'd missed in his nearly one-month of hospital arrest, courtesy June, Sara and Mozzie.

By the fourth day, he'd planned his second escape attempt but couldn't get through because Peter chose to spend that exact window of time to come visit him. Neal appreciated his presence but he couldn't help but smile at the older agent's instincts. Whenever Neal and a con were concerned, Peter was present. It was like he had some kind of super-psychic capabilities. But he was way past his saturation level with the mundane routine of _lying down_.

Neal tried a third, hasty retreat in the wee hours of the night but that fell upon his face when Mozzie lost balance over him at one point. The fall reminded him to his frustration that even though walking and thinking, his body was still a little _too_ delicate for his liking.

The next day went with him handcuffed to his bed without lockpicks and Mozzie banned from visiting him.

On the sixth day, Neal knew it was now or never. No amount of case files or meal baskets or artwork was getting through the intense boredom and claustrophobia he was beginning to experience and when the doctor walked in during his evening check-up, Neal made it clear he was either going to get discharged tomorrow or else was going to walk out the doors even with the entire hospital staff restraining him.

That seemed to do the trick.

The doctor knew that Neal was now strong enough to walk on his own even though having to catch his breath every now and then. She decided to hand over his discharge papers the next morning and in Peter's presence on the sole condition of another fortnight's worth of bedrest. His dressings he could have someone change once in three days and he needed to have his medications on time until his next check-up a week later. Neal had smiled in gratitude.

It was no lost knowledge about just how seriously he was going to take it until Elizabeth Burke walked in with her husband the next day, ensuring that Neal obeyed everything without any fuss.

Friday morning was sweet independence as Neal finally sat in the Burkes' car, looking out the windows like a dog lapping out on a sunny, breezy New York morning. Even though it was short-lived, Neal knew it was better than any therapy the hospital could give him. And soon, the car turned around to Riverside Drive, the mansion as appealing as always.

Peter and Elizabeth had both insisted on Neal staying over with them for atleast a couple of days until climbing and descending the stairs at June's became more of a menial task than a lung-exerter. But he seemed determined to head over to his apartment and have Sara over for the days he was supposed to be resting. El thought it a decent proposal given the recent reconciliation of the two love birds but Peter knew better.

Neal was definitely going to try staving off the awkwardness from their conversation last week.

Neal Caffrey was never a great sharer to begin with, even lesser so about his private life. So Peter knew it was only natural for the young man to want to pick his defences up as best as he could. Vulnerability was something he conned himself into believing he didn't have and the past month had only been but. Neal Caffrey unplugged was a rarity he assumed only Mozzie got to see until then and Peter wasn't exactly a listener or sharer himself, so he knew a few days was what both of them needed to revert to their original ways.

For now, giving each other space was just fine.

Neal spent the weekend under June and Sara's care, the two women fussing over him while Mozzie sipped away at his expensive wine collection, completely scandalized yet bemused by the female energy in the apartment. And when Elizabeth joined ranks during Sunday lunch, Neal looked desperate to make another escape attempt from the motherhens, held back only by Jones and Diana who'd decided to join Peter and meet him. Both of them were the only two people treating him like a normal human being even though they seemed to enjoy his ultimate discomfort upon being _cooed_ over.

He was definitely not used to that much attention and Mozzie didn't believe it to be natural either. But then they accounted it to be something they'd never experienced owing to their childhoods, Neal sipping away leisurely at a much required glass of _Lafite_ after everybody left for the day, including Sara who had to head home for a change of wardrobe. The wine calmed his nerves and for once, life felt back to normal. Guard slipping back on, emotions in hiding and his trademark Caffrey-grin ready to go. Just the right amount of normal. Or as normal as it could get with the anklet as his leash.

It was the first night Neal finally slept on his own without any medication easing him into the good old night.

It was also the first night Peter managed to sleep with his mind devoid of Neal-centric nightmares or thoughts.

When Peter reached the Bureau next day at 9, he expected it to be just another boring day with more mortgage fraud cases he had to pour upon. But the dullness of his job he could bear after the over-adventurous month he'd had. His life had gotten too adrenaline-paced ever since Neal had become his CI even though it made his job infinite times more thrilling with the highest agent-CI closing rate now in his name.

But he needed to cut back on the action or else he was going to get an attack soon.

Which he nearly had two minutes later when he entered the room to find Jones briefing the agents about a case, Neal sitting at the apex of the table on the other end in what Peter was certain was once Byron Ellington's favourite _Devore,_ looking as crisp and vibrant as he usually did albeit slightly paler than usual. The mask was back on, he noted instantly with the grin Neal shot him.

"Peter, finally!" exclaimed the conman happily, Peter noticing the fedora beside the file on the table. He rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? It's Monday morning," replied Neal with feigned innocence as he leaned back into his chair but both of them knew better. Peter gave him a _don't-mess-with-me_ look.

"And you are supposed to be on _bedrest_."

"Yeah like that was going to happen," chuckled Neal before he sobered down at the sight of nine pairs of eyes glaring at him. He hastily cleared his throat. "Peter, why don't you sit down and let Jones catch you up on the case?"

Peter wanted to argue but decided against it by the looks of amusement he was earning from the rest of the agents present in the room. He sat down and let Jones continue his briefing, his eyes wandering over to Neal every now and then to make sure that he was doing alright. From the looks of it, he was, his eyes as attentive as always while he interrupted the discussion every now and then with a smart question.

It took Peter a minute to bask in the happiness of the fact that Neal Caffrey was finally back.

Once the briefing was done and everybody left the room, Peter finally turned around to face the man in question, who already had an expectant grin and slipped on the hat in what Peter was sure was supposed to be some kind of trickery into believing he was back to his old, cartoonish ways.

"How did you even get out of the house? he asked, his tone a clear indication of him not being in a mood to entertain any excuse or explanation that started with a charming, trademark-Caffrey grin. But to his surprise, the expression that flitted upon the conman's face was sheer embarrassment.

"Peter, you don't understand. _I had to_ ," Peter was surprised; he didn't know what had triggered this kind of reaction until Neal enlightened him. "I have the highest regards for June, Sara and El and I _love_ them, but they were driving me crazy! Another day and I'd have cracked," he added, shaking his head in what Peter wanted to believe were mock tremors of horror but he noticed the rivulets of sweat forming upon Neal's head.

Peter could only relate too well to what he classified as _mother-hen_ behaviour. So rather than give the young man a hard time in spite of the golden opportunity, he flashed him a sympathetic look.

"Ah, I get you kid. One time I had an accident during the Jack Raymond case and El didn't let me out of her sight for two whole weeks. I've been extremely careful not get injured since," he added with a bit of cheek, Neal looking up to see whether Peter's confession was genuine or no. Seeing that it was, a wave of relief swept upon his face even though his relief looked mingled with a little fatigue.

"So you get me." Peter nodded. He may have not been happy about seeing Neal up and running so soon but he was happy to see the Bureau alight with his presence once again. Sometimes even he wondered how Neal Caffrey had come to become such an indispensable part of the White Collar Division in spite of being the inevitable flight risk he was.

"I see your desk's filled with a lot of cards and bouquets," remarked Peter after some time, noticing the overflooded desk the first thing when he entered the Bureau that morning. He assumed that Neal must have informed either Jones or Diana about his presenteeism the previous afternoon without Peter's knowledge.

"Everyone's been great around here," nodded Neal in assent, looking gratuitous at the gesture. Before anything could be said further, one of the agents stepped into the room and handed Peter a file. Nodding his head in thanks, Peter quickly scanned through its contents, his heart sinking by the end.

"Everything okay?" broke through Neal's voice, his eyes trying to gauge the situation. Peter sighed. If there was any a bad time to break the news, it was now. It was not something Peter could make peace with either but it was what it is was for now, he conceded bitterly.

"You know how Keller confessed to everything, right?" Neal nodded. "When Keller decided to confess, it was on the only condition that he would be doing it in front of the Russian authorities. And because he confessed in front of _them_ , they regard him as some kind of Russian hero who brought back Russia's lost treasures-"

"-because the Nazi's had originally pilfered the treasure from Russian lands," completed Neal, eyes comprehending. " _Son of a bitch_ ," he added in a silent whisper as he let his head fall back on the chair, his eyes now closed. Peter shook his head, voice strained.

"Between our charges for attempt to murder and their Government's _hero in a suit_ , we lost the battle. They got him bailed yesterday and extradited to Russia, probably to give him a _medal of honour_. It bothers me immensely and I know it's got to bother you too. But I promise you we'll nab the bastard."

The conman remained silent for a minute, his expression and silence unfathomable. Neal Caffrey was an explosion of deceptive expressions and there were seldom occasions where Peter couldn't read through _him_ or his deceptions. This was one of them.

After another minute though, he shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"I know you will, Peter. You always do," replied Neal, giving him a small smile. Peter cocked an eyebrow of surprise. Neither was there impulsiveness in his attitude nor was there any kind of on-the-feet thinking. He sighed heavily, accepting the way things were going to proceed for once.

Peter tried not to smile but couldn't help it.

He couldn't help but feel proud at the bouts of moral decency Neal showed at the most unexpected of moments. When Peter had first read through the document, he wasn't sure how Neal would react even though every reaction would have been valid after everything he'd gone through. And yet there was a sense of maturity that Neal was not best reputed for, courtesy of the impulsive conman seated deep within. There was no doubt that Neal was always going to be a conman first and that was a part of him that was second nature to him but he liked the change Neal was willing to bring on the table while serving with the FBI. It gave him hope that Neal could still turn his life around for the better if he genuinely tried.

Peter looked up to see Neal lost in thought, his eyes slightly glazed as though trying to recollect something he could not. He put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Still don't remember any of it, do you?" asked Peter, the hand snapping Neal out of his stupor. He looked slightly surprised at the question but answered nonetheless.

"I don't, no."

Peter was secretly thankful he didn't, although he knew the extent Neal had been ready to go through for getting back Elizabeth. And if Neal couldn't remember the details, the least he could do was thank him for being willing to sacrifice the priceless treasure in exchange.

"During those twelve hours, you found Mozzie and willingly gave up the treasure for El. That couldn't have been easy in any way. And you were willing to do it for me. It meant a lot," confessed Peter, knowing good well the sudden confession had taken Neal by surprise.

He smiled sheepishly even though Peter felt something off about his demeanour.

"The treasure had its appeal but I think I found something better in the meanwhile. Not the biggest fan of the radius but hey, atleast I've got the _suits_ ," Neal added, giving Peter a swift wink as he straightened up in his chair. Peter laughed in spite of himself at just how fast Neal had let genuine gratitude slip through his defences without letting his façade fall.

"I've missed having you around, kid."

"I've missed this too," replied Neal gracefully before making an attempt to stand up, fidgeting with his collar suddenly. "It's really getting hot in here, isn't it?" remarked Peter, and it suddenly clicked. The agent narrowed his eyes at Neal when he noticed the beads of sweat get more pronounced on his forehead.

"The air conditioning is fine. _You're not_ ," he asserted, holding Neal's arm to steady him when he wavered dangerously around the chair. The younger man looked deflated at being made.

"I, well-"

"That's it, you're going home. I'll have Jones deliver you the files you need to work on and until I don't deem you fit, you're under strict house arrest. And by that, I mean readjusting your radius to just your _apartment_ ," specified Peter before Neal could put up another argument with the words at the tip of his tongue, looking at the agent as though he'd been sentenced to death.

But when Peter let go of his arm and he still wavered, Neal shut his mouth irritably. Peter knew it was not just a passing lightheaded moment.

"Great, so much from escaping one prison to the next," he grumbled, clearing pissed at his own luck before sitting down again, loosening his tie while Peter got him a glass of water. The agent then walked outside the conference room and gave Jones the double finger call while pointing at a separate stack of case files on his table.

When he turned back to the conference room, he found Neal glaring at him.

"I can't believe you'd do this to me."

Peter grinned. He'd gone soft with the boy when it was needed. It was time to get him to _cowboy up_. And so came back Special Agent Peter Burke with the next set of words in the choicest voice of threats he reserved for the man before him.

"Everything said and done, I still own you for the next two years and a half and-"

"-you can put me back in jail anytime you want, yeah," completely Neal with blatant snark, looking even more so like a disgruntled 5-year old. But it was short-lived. "Promise me you'll visit daily?" he asked the next moment in beseech, his pride taking a hit in its shins against the fear of the mother-hen isolation he was about to be subjected to again.

"I'll be like one of those annoying patients on your back 24x7," assured Peter a little too cheerfully and Neal groaned. Jones stepped in as a saving grace at that moment, Peter's attention instantly taken as he turned to explain to him what needed to be done next with regards to the still-recovering man. The man who was not subtle enough in suppressing the retort that left his lips.

"Like you don't do that enough with my anklet already."

A look from Peter was all Neal needed to know that he was going to regret that.

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 **Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D**


	11. Chapter 11

**A Minute**

* * *

 **A/N: Hey there everyone! :D To everyone who's been a part of this beautiful journey, I want to say thank you. None of it would have been as fun to pen had it not been for your active views and reviews and here's a big, big hug to all of you! :)**

 **Like all good things come to an end, this must too. And as I drop the curtains on this piece for the last time,**

 **Happy Reading! :D :D**

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

New York blazed as gorgeously as always as it slipped into inky darkness, the citylights compensating for the lack of twinkling stars.

A surveillance van stood outside Twelfth Avenue with two men sitting in front of multiple monitors, eyeing the proceedings going on in the building they were parked before without much interest. A stifled yawn broke the silence.

"Peter, this is a bust. There's no way Jones is going to be able to shake down Jonathan for information on the Degas."

"Maybe not Jones, but Diana's got her facts straight. Stay put," warned Peter when Neal looked ready to stand up.

Life had finally restored its normalcy for both men in the van. It had been three months since the incident with Keller and everyone had finally taken a move from it and onto the next thing. Neal had successfully completed fifteen days out of his assigned three-month therapy session before he gave up, taking matters into his own hands with regular exercising. The women knew not to toe his line of patience anymore and decided to keep a watchful eye without suffocating him. Neal suspected Peter had something to do with it but didn't bring it to the agent's notice.

On the other side of things, Elizabeth had finally picked up on her business in full swing, the Burke residency experiencing a similar bout of balance. With everything that had happened, Peter could finally sleep soundly save for an occasional nightmare or two while El held up as well as she could. She wouldn't venture out too late into the night and Peter ensured that on the nights he was working late, he had a detail outside his house. He'd also made it a point to upgrade the security on his house, having Neal select the technology to be installed.

Things between him and Peter had gone back to normal.

In spite of everything said and done, when Neal had re-joined the FBI to his fullest capacity, Peter knew that their base of trust needed to be rebuilt. He may have let emotions cloud his judgment but a recuperated Neal brought back to fore a long lost matter of trust. Neither of them let the elephant in the room trumpet but knew that actions would prove louder than words in the end if amends needed to be made. And so, they focused on work.

"You should have let me gone in."

"I would have but you signed the contract, Neal."

The two months hence had Neal firmly placed on desk duty, allowed to consult on several cases but was given the paperwork side of things to handle. Surveillance duties and undercover missions were privileges he'd signed off but he couldn't complain about something he'd traded off in the first place. He'd not toed the line once in his two months even though the cases he worked on had several improvised inputs from him tweaking laws. Well, atleast he was on this side of the law and had his routine to the Bureau keeping him occupied _productively_.

"You took advantage of the situation."

"It was either that or paperwork from home with your apartment as your radius."

Neal still remembered what had triggered the situation - his childishly snark response to Peter. Peter had been serious in carrying out his threat about readjusting his radius to his apartment. Only, what was supposed to be for a week ended up being pulled up to two without any leniency. Neal had been sullen and grumpy and spent most of his time painting in his apartment, tuning out the world around him. When a week passed by and Neal remarked nothing about his depleting wine collection, Mozzie knew it was time to bring in _the Suit_.

True to his word, Peter would visit him daily but would leave in barely ten minutes of Neal giving grunts and ' _hmms'_ as response. Peter knew it was for his own good; the more he rested, the faster he would recover.

But Neal seemed to beg differently.

On the eighth day, he finally called Peter and had broken his silence at long last - _please come over to my place after work, it's urgent_.

But Peter hadn't waited until after work, ofcourse. _Urgent_ had kicked all of his instincts into overdrive and it wouldn't have been short of exaggeration if he had brought the entire White Collar Division armed and loaded. Instead it had just been Neal leaning on the balcony door, lost in thought. Peter had cleared his throat and had entered, his heart still ringing in his ears.

And then, Neal had turned back with a Caffrey-grin on his face.

 _"Peter, I have thought long and hard about this and I have it. If I forgo van duty and undercover missions and take up desk duty for two months, will you readjust my radius and let me back to the Bureau? I'm nearly done with my 15-day bedrest and the doctor has given me a clean bill of health. You can call Dr. Schmidt and ask."_

Peter knew he was falling into a trap. He knew Neal needed the mini-punishment not just for his slip of tongue but just to reinforce boundaries with him. But if he honestly asked himself, he was bored to death solving cases without any challenge. He wanted the conman back and needed a little spice of thrill to make his job bearable, it not necessarily easy.

And so here they were, two months later, sitting in the surveillance van on Neal's first sanctioned mission out of the Bureau. In Peter's defence, he'd sanctioned it because Neal was the only one who could identify the fence.

"God, it's stifling in here! I'm stepping out for some air."

"You will do no such thing. And stop behaving like a restless 5-year old, your energy is too much for me to handle without Diana."

Neal rolled his eyes at him. It was obvious that he was going to be high on energy after going months without anything substantially interesting. Jones and Diana would often give him sympathetic looks when Peter would make him sit out on missions but he would refuse to acknowledge them. If there was one thing he could never stomach, it was sympathy. And it was also the main reason why he never chose to talk about his life before the age of 18.

Mozzie had obviously been the first one to know about where he came from but that confidence had only been after Mozzie had told him about the abandoned childhood he'd grown up into. Atleast Neal had it a lot better than Mozzie and knew there would be no sympathy on the table for him and he'd been right. Until years later, when Peter had finally touched upon his childhood. The first time he'd successfully denied answering anything. The second time, the validation was obvious and he'd given Peter the basics.

But he didn't know what had prompted him to talk about his childhood to Peter in the hospital. It had been a moment of intense vulnerability and he'd given in to his utter regret. And yet there had been no sympathy or judgment on Peter's face. Just acceptance. Just understanding. Even in the days to come, there was no underlying change in his behaviour owing to his confessions. Neal knew Peter still held a certain amount of guilt; as did he. But that would pass with time. It _nearly_ always did.

For now, he chose to focus on work and get his guard back up. The transition had been subtle, even gradual. Nobody realized the mask slipping back on, except Peter ofcourse, but since when did the older man not see through anything? It was an infuriating trait that Neal had to put up with but it was also something he'd come to rely upon when Peter had to be kept out of the loop. He knew Peter would join the dots, something that had saved him from quite a few reckless decisions in the recent past.

Peter had certainly taught him to cowboy up, something he found himself reiterating out loud in that moment.

"Cowboy up, old man."

" _What_ did you just say?" shot back Peter, the warning in his tone not amiss.

"I said-" began Neal, knowing this was probably going to cost him another month of desk arrest when a knock on the van door cut him short. The sound made Peter jump harshly, the agent snapping his gun out in reflex.

But Neal let a mischievous smile creep up his face instead.

"That would be my special take out. You know, I figured we'd be here for a couple of hours atleast, so why not?" he added on earning an incredulous look from Peter's end. He shrugged his shoulders and Peter rolled his eyes at him before opening the door cautiously.

"Ah, pizza. Just like old times," remarked Peter with a shake of his head, taking the box out of the delivery boy's hands and tipping him with more than just a smile. The pizza had been paid for in advance, apparently.

"Consider it as a thank you for letting me take up the surveillance van," said Neal once Peter reclaimed his seat, the box now in between both of them.

"You have to thank me for a lot of things, kid," quipped Peter in spite of a smile.

Neal couldn't say no to that. When he thought back to the years before, he knew that there had been a time where he had all the comfort, excitement and luxury he could ask for and had the right people to share it with. It had been the peak of his life, a life he always sought to run towards. When he proposed his current deal to Peter, there had never been an idea of permanence in his mind. As soon as he found Kate, he would see the first chance to run without anybody the wiser.

Peter had only caught him twice because of an exploited weakness, Neal staunchly liked to believe. But with Kate in tow, he would be invincible. He could always send Peter birthday cards and have telephone calls with him late in the night and could always send him cookies and pizza to make the van more bearable. Well that idea had blown into smithereens along with Kate.

And yet here he was, sharing pizza with the man he had once wanted to run from.

"Did you ever think they'd be a day when we'd be eating pizza together in the surveillance van?"

"I know I've eaten a lot of pizza in the surveillance van with you on the other side of things," replied Peter, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. Those were the days of his life, Peter knew. A happy marriage, a studded promotion and hot on James Bonds' tracks. Those had been the days where all cases dulled in comparison to the man before him, the man who was a worthy adversary and posed a good challenge. A challenge that he was even up to this date with his impulsiveness and love for breaking rules.

"That helped me run faster, distracting you with the indulgence of food," laughed Neal rather immoderately, making Peter smirk.

"Definitely made me put on quite some weight. But the thrill of the chase more than made up for it," he admitted, earning a childishly proud smile from the conman.

He may have been old enough but he was just a child trapped in a man's body. He still had some traces of the Neal Caffrey profiled in his file - arrogant, cocky and so in over his head he had no idea what was going to hit him. But working with him and knowing him beyond his files and stings had brought Peter another Neal Caffrey - resourceful, creative and a team player, as long as the ones assigned with him were improv artists too for the more-than-often deviations in script.

And then there was a Neal Caffrey he got to see in the darkest of moments - vulnerable, whimsical and just in need of love.

That was the real man beneath all the aliases and masks. That was also the man who pulled the strings on every impulsive decision the boy made. There was nothing more dangerous than a Neal Caffrey cornered into the wall. And that's what he'd done with the treasure, Peter realized now. It had not been moments after Kate was finally avenged when Peter had rained hell upon him for something he'd technically not committed until then. Peter still resented the entire incident and the avalanche of turns it had brought into his life with its cursed history.

But it had taught him more about the kind of man Neal was than anything else.

"Do you miss the treasure, knowing the kind of life you could have had ahead with it?" asked Peter, the question finally escaping his lips. It had been the first time they brought up the treasure in a normal conversation that didn't involve the Bureau. It had almost become like an invisible pact to let their relationship heal above anything else from its brutal effects.

The surprise on Neal's face was evident, so was his discomfort as he shifted in his chair.

"Honestly? No," confessed Neal with a shake of his head. It had been a question he'd long since pondered upon and every time he landed up with the same answer. "It was a lot more trouble than it was worth right from the start. I guess it was lost at sea for a reason. Should have remained so and spared us all a good deal of heartbreak."

"That's a Neal Caffrey I don't recognize," commented Peter, open about his observation. Neal had given up the treasure out of his loyalty to the Burkes but Peter knew it was not something anyone could give up so easily with his history. But in light of recent events, he could definitely see Neal take genuine efforts to bring the course of his life back to a reasonable track.

"What would you choose to do after your commutation hearing, should they decide to nullify your sentence?"

This had been the first surprise Neal had received after his 15-day ban to the Bureau. He had barely stepped onto the elevator when Peter stepped in too, looking both thrilled and a little pensive. It was a bizarre combination of vibes Neal had gotten from the agent but he decided not to blow another day of work by opening his mouth. So it was only natural that he felt apprehensive when Peter told him to head straight to his cabin before stepping into the Bureau.

Through all the glances of welcome, Neal only had eyes for the man who'd already seated himself comfortably. Neal had knocked and Peter had looked up immediately. He had gestured for him to sit and so Neal did, wondering what bomb was about to befall upon his head. Instead, Peter had given him a small smile and pulled open a file marked _US Probation Office_.

What did it hold? A letter of commendation along with a commutation hearing.

What did it mean? No anklet after six months if everything went well.

What would he do with his newfound freedom?

"I don't know, honestly. I like my life the way it is at the moment," replied Neal with a genuineness that even surprised him. It certainly seemed to catch Peter's attention, the older agent now setting aside the slice in his hand to take a good look at him.

"So you wouldn't go back to the life of a conman?" asked Peter, his tone now amused. Neal couldn't blame him for being so.

"I liked that life too, you know. I still do, in spite of everything," added Neal after a few moments, throwing caution into the wind. It was not something he'd entirely figured out still but he knew one thing for certain - there were quite a few things about this life that he was not willing to give up yet, including _New York_.

"If given the chance, would you run?"

This was it. The moment of truth. The moment he still didn't know how he'd react to.

Every single night he found himself atop the Flatiron building with a coin in hand, the toss deciding his fate. Some nights, the coin would land upon heads and he'd walk towards the limousine Mozzie had waiting for him, going out there and becoming the world's greatest thief without any weaknesses holding him back from achieving his fullest potential anymore.

But on the other nights, the coin would land upon tails, and he'd walk towards Peter back to the FBI. He manages to become to first unprecedented agent with a criminal background that not only works as a part of the White Collar Division but ends up earning Peter's position in two years while Peter became ASAC. He is now happily married to Sara and has the life of an honest man. He is now a part of one big happy family with cappuccino in the clouds and a million-dollar view. And he's the best goddamn agent the division has seen.

Both lives hold a vice-like grip in appeal.

One is the life he always dreamt of having when his father was a hero.

The other was a life he ended up having after knowing his father was anything _but_ a hero.

The question certainly made him break into cold sweat every night when he'd wake up and today was no different. Except he was wide awake and had Peter staring at him in the full glory of the dim van lights.

"I-" began Neal while loosening his tie when he stopped halfway.

Peter noticed the cold sweats and his discomfort when the young man's hand came to a standstill, seeing something that was beyond his purview at the moment. Perhaps it was a trigger question, Peter assumed. It was not as though Neal ever spoke about any issues he went through, or even let on that he had issues to begin with. But he knew better than to intrude upon his space, trying to assess the situation to the best he could before Neal withdrew in a shell no one could retrieve him from. Peter thought he was making headway.

Until Neal suddenly bolted out of the van.

Peter was left momentarily stunned as he looked out the open doors, his mind zapped to reality. He looked back to the monitor to immediately realize that Jonathan had run out of the building and was now escaping. He tossed aside the slice of pizza and was hot on Neal's heels, the conman having covered a lot of ground, having nearly caught up to the fence before tackling him to the ground, pulling his hand into a rough lock. Jonathan managed to break the lock and flip Neal onto his back, pulling a gun out faster than he could catch sight of. Both of them struggled over the gun before Neal smacked him across his face.

Peter, Jones and Diana reached a moment later and quickly pulled Jonathan out of Neal's grasp. Jones slapped the cuffs hard and final around his wrists while Diana helped Neal up, who was falling short of air.

"Damn it, Neal! I told you to stay put!" gasped Peter, his heart finally willing to settle back into place once he saw Neal safe and far away from another struggle over a gun. The anger in his tone was evident.

"Jonathan was going to escape!" replied Neal indignantly, finally regaining his air and straightening his suit even though the fear in Peter's eyes made him conscious about the situation he'd just escaped from months ago. He could feel his hands shiver in spite of himself.

The older agent put his hands over his hips.

"Jones and Diana had guns to stop him! _You didn't._ "

"Well, anything to get out of the van. I don't see you complaining," retorted Neal as both men watched the fence being dumped into the police car, the younger man finally regaining his composure. He still didn't recollect anything about the incident in itself, saving him quite some trouble from not being advised to take up post traumatic therapy.

Peter let out a sigh of frustration.

"You're absolutely impossible! Do you really expect me to give you a positive recommendation at the commutation for your reckless stunts?" he asked, his tone borderline between a threat and his own introspection. But Neal was not deterred anymore. If anything, he was only too excited at getting a piece of action to be a part of in this case, the adrenaline rush making him feel better than he had in months.

"Well, atleast you can trust me to get the job done," grinned Neal cheekily, and to this Peter rolled his eyes.

"How do you expect me to trust you when you can't follow even basic orders?"

"The same way you trust me not to run whenever you take off the anklet," came Neal's response with such unthought impulse that it took both men by surprise. It was not an unknown fact yet the raw honestly of it was not lost upon either. Both of them gave each other a knowing smile before Neal pulled his up a notch, flashing Peter a trademark grin. So much for avoiding the awkwardness.

This was definitely a Neal Caffrey he recognized.

"I hope you don't think I fled from the van because of your questions. If you did, you'd be absolutely right."

Peter laughed in spite of himself as both men walked towards the Taurus parked on the other side of the road, now exhausted. In the long run, he did not know where their choices would lead them but for now, this would do. It was not the first time they had each other's backs and this would certainly not be the last. It was always going to be trust and verify between them and that was what made their partnership what it was. Something akin friendship. Something akin a promise. Something akin family.

And as Peter revved the car into motion, he knew one more thing for certain. He would do everything in his capacity to protect the young man from all harm. Even if it meant gaining his resentment. Even if it meant protecting him from himself. Neal Caffrey was no longer just his responsibility but was his _friend_. A friend he would save from every situation he could from this point forth. And goodness knew that Peter Burke never failed. Maybe once.

His slip-up at the docks would be the only time he'd ever be a minute too late to save Neal Caffrey.

* * *

 **Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D**


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